MASTER  SKY  LARK 


BY    JOHN     BENNETT 


DRAMATIZED  BY 
EDGAR  WHITE  BURRILL 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


MASTER  SKYLARK 


"Master    Skylark,   thou    shalt   have   thy   wish,"    said    Queen 
Elizabeth. 


MASTER  SKYLARK 

OR 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE'S  WARD 

A  Dramatization  from  the  Story  of  the 
same  name  by  John  Bennett 

IN  FIVE  ACTS 
BY 

EDGAR  WHITE  BURRILL 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

REGINALD  B.  BIRCH 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
JOHK  BENNETT 


All  rights  reserved,  including  rights  of  production, 
translation,  and  adaptation. 


PRINTED  IN   U.   S.  A. 


To  J.  E.  B. 

Whose  unfailing  sympathy  and  encouragement 

Has  been  an  inspiration  to  so  many, 

But  most  of  all  to  me. 


883083 


PREFACE 

The  number  of  people  who  have  been  delighted 
with  Mr.  Bennett's  charming  story  of  Elizabethan 
England  since  it  first  appeared  in  the  ST.  NICHO 
LAS  magazine  nearly  twenty  years  ago  continues  to 
increase  steadily.  No  contemporary  presenta 
tion  in  fiction  of  the  life  of  that  age  is  more  faith 
ful;  no  other  has  succeeded  so  well  in  reproducing 
the  atmosphere  of  the  times.  To  the  winsome  fig 
ure  of  Nicholas  Attwood  himself  there  clings  a  sort 
of  Peter  Pan  quality  which  endears  him  to  old  and 
young  alike.  It  is  this  fine  sentiment  that  raises 
"  Master  Skylark  "  quite  above  the  level  of  the 
ordinary  historical  romance. 

At  the  same  time  it  should  be  remarked  that  the 
story  has  been  deemed  of  such  historical  accuracy 
as  to  warrant  its  use  in  colleges  and  schools  in  this 
country  to  give  to  students  an  adequate  sense  of 
the  local  color  of  the  brilliant  Elizabethan  age; 
and  to  many  it  has  had  the  effect  of  awakening  an 
appreciation  not  only  of  the  times,  but  of  the  liter 
ature  of  the  period  as  well.  So  careful  has  the 

author  been,  in  fact,  that  his  book  has  been  used 

vii 


viii  PREFACE 

in  England  as  an  auxiliary  guide  to  Stratford-on- 
Avon,  while  in  Berlin, —  for  the  minute  study  of 
all  pertaining  to  Will  Shakespeare  has  in  some 
ways  been  more  at  heart  to  the  German  than  to 
the  Briton, —  in  addition  to  the  regular  German 
edition  of  the  story,  there  has  been  issued  a  school 
edition  with  notes,  glossary,  etc.,  for  German  aca 
demic  use. 

The  attempt  made  here  to  visualize  the  story 
upon  the  stage  has  had  certain  manifest  difficulties, 
yet  the  continued  superiority  of  this  romance  to 
all  others  in  the  field  has  justified  such  an  attempt, 
particularly  on  this  three-hundredth  anniversary 
of  Shakespeare's  death,  when  clubs,  high-  schools, 
colleges,  communities,  and  cities  everywhere  are 
searching  for  dramatic  material  to  use  in  connec 
tion  with  the  nation-wide  Shakespeare  tercente 
nary  celebration. 

Many  critics  have  felt  that  in  the  story  which 
forms  the  basis  of  the  play  Shakespeare  the  man 
has  for  the  first  time  in  literature  been  adequately 
presented.  In  the  play  more  prominence  might 
have  been  given  to  the  part  if  it  had  not  been  the 
desire  of  the  dramatist  to  keep  as  closely  as  possi 
ble  to  the  original  version  of  the  story.  For  the 
play,  like  the  story,  aims  to  set  before  the  eye  the 
fabric  of  the  times  as  a  whole;  and  perhaps  the 
proportion  is  thus  historically  truer,  since,  so  far 


PREFACE  ix 

as  we  can  know,  Shakespeare  did  not  make 
any  tremendous  stir  among  his  contemporaries. 
Quietly,  unostentatiously,  he  enters  upon  the  scene 
when  the  gorgeous  pageant  of  the  century  is  al 
ready  well  unrolled,  and  always  he  is  turning  to 
materials  and  types  exploited  by  his  predecessors, 
though  transmuting  them  with  genius.  And  so 
in  the  play,  as  in  the  story,  we  find  him  adapting 
himself  to  conditions  created  largely  by  antecedent 
circumstances,  yet  unobtrusively  transforming  the 
very  flow  of  the  events  themselves  by  the  impress 
of  his  own  sweet  spirit.  It  is  therefore  eminently 
fitting  that  this  gentle  personality  should  follow 
on  the  heels  of  that  lovable  rascal  Gaston  Carew, 
the  bold  and  tragic  master-player,  an  embodiment 
for  all  time  of  the  poet-adventurer,  who  holds  the 
stage  for  two  full  acts  and  more  before  he  makes 
his  quietus.  The  shift  in  dramatic  interest  from 
such  kaleidoscopic  emotions  as  Carew's  to  the  shin 
ing  peace  of  Shakespeare's  late  appearance  may 
violate  technic,  but  what  happier  ending  could  be 
imagined  for  any  play  than  the  solace  of  a  pres 
ence  such  as  Will's?  E  W  B 
New  York,  December,  1915. 


All  communications  looking  towards  production 
should  be  referred  to  E.  W.  Burrill,  care  of  The 
Century  Co.,  353  Fourth  Ave.,  New  York  City. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Master  Skylark,  thou  shall  have  thy  wish,"    Frontispiece 
said  Queen  Elizabeth         -  Facing 

Page 

"What!  How  now? "  cried  the  stranger  sharply. 
"Dost  like  or  like  me  not? "  -  -  -  40 

"Master  Nicholas  Skylark,  the  sweetest  singer  in 
all  the  Kingdom  of  England!  "  -  48 

"Nobody  breaks  nobody's  hearts  in  old  Jo-hn 
Smithses  Sho-op,"  drawled  the  smith,  in  his  deep 
voice;  "  nor  steals  nobody,  nother."  -  -72 

Cicely  darted  to  his  side  with  a  frightened  cry.        -     88 

"  Oh,  Nick,  thou  art  most  beautiful  to  see!"  cried 
Cicely.  -  92 

"  God  bless  thee,  Nick!   I  love  thee,  lad."       -         -  132 

Master  Shakespeare  met  them  with  outstretched 
hands.  ----..-.  144 


MASTER  SKYLARK: 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE'S  WARD 


MASTER  SKYLARK: 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE'S  WARD 

OUTLINE 

Nick  Attwood,  a  young  boy  of  Stratford-on- 
Avon  and  cousin  to  William  Shakespeare,  is  kid 
napped  by  a  company  of  players  that  visit  the 
town  in  1596.  Taken  to  London,  he  becomes  a 
famous  choir-boy  singer,  and  at  last  appears  be 
fore  Queen  Elizabeth  herself.  There  he  meets 
Shakespeare,  and  is  eventually  restored  by  him 
to  his  humble  parents.  The  action  throughout  is 
portrayed  with  historically  accurate  setting. 

In  Act  I  the  action  shows  the  simple  home  life 
in  a  Stratford  tanner's  cottage,  and  the  boy's  dis 
satisfaction  with  the  restrictions  of  his  Puritan 
ical  father.  Nick  has  decided  to  leave  his  school 
fellows  and  run  away,  when  Gaston  Carew,  the 
leader  of  the  Admiral's  company  of  players,  hears 
his  sweet  voice  and  resolves  to  kidnap  him,  partly 
for  revenge  on  Stratford  town  for  having  been 
himself  arrested  there.  An  old  thatched  cottage 
by  a  country  lane  is  the  setting. 

3 


4  OUTLINE 

Act  II  opens  with  a  jovial  tavern  scene  at  Cov 
entry,  with  a  typical  inn-yard  performance  of  a 
play,  wherein  Nick  sings.  Learning  there  of  his 
being  stolen  for  good,  he  tries  to  escape,  is  for  a 
time  stoutly  defended  by  a  blacksmith  to  whom 
he  flies,  but  finally  is  won  back  again  by  the  blan 
dishments  of  Carew. 

Act  III  takes  place  at  Carew's  house  in  London, 
where  Nick  begins  to  be  attracted  by  Cicely  Carew, 
the  master-player's  charming  little  daughter;  he 
is  accepted  as  head  choir-boy  after  singing  for 
the  old  precentor  of  St.  Paul's;  and  is  provided 
for  by  Carew,  whose  real  affection  has  been 
aroused  for  him. 

In  Scene  1  of  Act  IV,  Nick  sings  at  the  court 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  amidst  all  the  glory  and  glit 
ter  of  the  great  Greenwich  palace  throne-room ; 
he  meets  Shakespeare,  and  is  taken  under  his 
charge.  Carew  is  taken  to  Newgate  Jail  for  stab 
bing  a  fellow-player,  and  in  Scene  2  Nick  goes 
to  say  good-by  to  him  there,  in  the  semi-darkness 
of  a  gloomy  corridor  of  cells.  At  the  end  of  this 
brief  drop-curtain  scene,  he  is  again  kidnapped  by 
Carew's  disreputable  servant. 

Act  V  occurs  in  Shakespeare's  rose-garden, 
"  New  Place,"  Stratford,  at  early  dawn ;  Nick  and 
Cicely  find  Shakespeare  and  his  friends,  and  Nick 
is  reunited  with  his  family,  while  Cicely  finds  a 


OUTLINE  5 

new  father  and  mother  in  the  tanner  and  his  gen 
tle  wife. 

NOTE 

All  the  main  characters  may  be  taken  by  seven 
persons.  Carew  and  Shakespeare,  the  leading 
male  roles,  can  be  played  by  one  man,  since  Carew 
practically  disappears  after  Act  III.  Queen 
Elizabeth  and  Nick's  mother  may  be  taken  by  the 
same  person.  Cicely  Carew  and  the  tavern  maid 
may  be  played  by  the  same  actress.  Schoolboys, 
pages,  and  choir  boys  all  played  by  the  same 
actresses,  or  by  actual  choir  boys.  Goole  and 
Simon  Attwood,  the  same  actor;  and  this  actor 
may  also  be  one  of  the  players  in  Carew's 
and  Shakespeare's  companies.  The  other  parts, 
Ben  Jonson,  Tom  Heywood,  the  carpenter,  the 
tavern-keeper,  the  blacksmith,  the  butler,  the 
precentor,  the  ambassador,  and  the  two  prison 
guards  —  may  all  be  taken  successively  by  two 
persons.  Total  necessary  characters  (includ 
ing  three  actresses  for  choir  boys,  pages,  and 
schoolboys)  —  ten.  Courtiers  and  citizens  may  be 
supplied  locally,  the  elaborate,  gorgeous,  but  al 
ways  beautiful  costumes  of  these  brightest  and 
wittiest  of  all  courtly  days  being  the  most  strik 
ing  feature  necessary  for  their  make-up. 

The  part  of  Nick,  a  boy  of  twelve  to  fourteen 


6  OUTLINE 

years,  should  be  taken  by  an  actress  possessed  of 
a  sweet  voice  though  by  no  means  necessitating 
a  professional  singer.  Or  a  choir  boy  of  some 
histrionic  ability  would  do.  He  sings  a  famous 
lyric  by  Shakespeare,  Heywood,  or  some  other 
Elizabethan  in  each  act,  and  upon  the  sweetness 
and  childlike  charm  of  these  five  songs  depends 
much  of  the  effectiveness  of  the  play. 

If  it  is  desired  to  shorten  the  acting-time  of  the 
play,  an  abbreviation  of  the  fifth  act  is  included, 
which  is  half  the  length  of  the  regular  version. 


CHARACTERS 

SIMOK  ATTWOOD,  a  Stratford  tanner 
MAHGAHET  ATTWOOD,  his  wife 

NICHOLAS  ATTWOOD,  afterwards  called  Master  Skylark,  their 
son 

GASTON  CAREW,  the  Master-Player  of  the  Lord  High  Ad 
miral's  Company 
CICELY  CAREW,  his  daughter 
GREGORY  GOOLE,  Carew's  disreputable  servant 
WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE, 
BEN  JONSON, 
THOMAS  HEYWOOD, 

And  other  players 
QUEEN  ELIZABETH 
A  carpenter  mason;  a  tavern-keeper;  a  blacksmith;  a  butler; 

a  maid;  a  precentor;  schoolboys,  choir  boys,  and  pages; 

guards;  courtiers;  citizens;  etc. 

SYNOPSIS 

ACT  I. —  A  country  lane  outside  the  Attwoods'  cottage  at 
Stratford-on-Avon,  the  last  of  April,  1596. 

ACT  II. —  A  tavern  room  in  Coventry. 

ACT  III. —  A  room  in  Carew's  house,  London. 

ACT  IV.— 

Scene  1 :  Throne  room  of  the  Greenwich  Palace, 
London. 

Scene  2:  A  corridor  in  Newgate  Jail  (Drop- 
curtain  scene). 

ACT  V. —  The  rose-garden  back  of  Shakespeare's  house, 
"New  Place,"  Stratford. 

TIME  INTERVAL:  One  night  passes  in  Act  I,  indicated  by 
the  descent  of  the  curtain  in  mid-act,  for  a  moment. 
Four  days  between  Acts  II  and  III.  Eight  days  be 
tween  Acts  III  and  IV.  Five  days  between  Acts  IV 
and  V. 


ACT  I 

\lLate  afternoon  m  1596,  the  last  day  of  April.  A 
country  lane,  running  diagonally  across  the 
stage,  in  front  of  a  ihatched  cottage,  which  is 
to  the  right.  Between  the  lane  and  the  cottage 
is  a  low  stone  wall,  with  a  loose-hung  gate  in  the 
middle.  Between  the  wall  and  the  cottage  is  an 
open  lawn,  most  of  which  is  visible.  On  the  left 
of  the  stage,  at  the  side  of  the  lane,  is  an  Eng~ 
lish  hedge,  over  the  top  of  which,  at  some  dis" 
tance,  can  be  seen  the  Swan  Inn  and  other 
houses  of  Str  at  ford-on- Avon. 

The  cottage  has  a  large,  low  window  and  a  wide 
open  doorway,  through  which  are  visible  a  plain 
wooden  table,  a  rough  bench,  three  stools,  and 
a  smoldering  hearth-fire.  The  house  has  no 
chimney.  The  black  beams  of  the  walls  show 
up  against  the  yellow  plaster.  There  are 
rushes  upon  the  floor;  painted  cloth  hangings 
on  the  wall,  representing  the  Prodigal  Son,  in 
a  dingy  blue  coat,  and  the  brownish  Red  Sea, 
•with  Pharaohs  inky  hosts;  also  the  maxims  — 
"  Do  No  Wrong,"  "  Beware  of  Sloth,"  "  Over 
come  Pride,"  and  "  Keep  an  Eye  on  the  Pence." 
9 


10  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

A.S  the  curtain  rises,  from  the  highroad — the 
edge  of  which  is  barely  visible  to  the  audience  at 
the  left  back  corner  of  the  stage  —  into  which 
this  lane  evidently  leads,  comes  a  confused  mur 
mur  of  voices.  Distant  trumpet  heard.  Si 
lence;  then  increased  excitement.  Enter  two 
boys,  running  up  the  lane.'} 

1  BOY.     We  be  in  time !     They  be  na  here  yet ! 
[Enter,  another  boy.'} 

2  BOY.     They're  coming!  they're  coming.1 

3  BOY.     Who?     Who? 

1  BOY.  The  Admiral's  Players.  Come  on! 
[Exeunt.'} 

[The  sound  of  many  horses'  hoofs  on  a  bridge 
not  far  away.  A  fanfare  of  trumpets.  En 
ter,  HODGE,  a  clownish  lout  of  a  boy,  puff 
ing  up  the  lane.  Enter,  at  the  doorway, 
from  an  inner  room,  MARGARET  ATTWOOD, 
poorly  but  neatly  dressed  in  a  worsted  gown 
with  a  falling  linen  cottar,  and  with  a  soft 
silken  coif  upon  her  grayish  hair.} 

HODGE,  Be  it  truly  the  players,  Mistress  Att- 
wood? 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  Aye,  Hodge;  'tis  the 
players  from  London,  sure  enough.  See,  yon  they 
come. 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  11 

HODGE.  Eigh!  My  stars!  There  be  a  heap 
on  'em!  [Exit  running,  and  crying  out.] 
They  're  coming !  They  're  coming !  The  play 
ers  be  coming!  Hurrah! 

[Voices  cheering.  Music  of  kettledrums,  cym 
bals,  trumpets,  flutes,  etc.,  begins,  as  a  line 
of  men  in  court  attire,  zvith  resplendent  ban 
ners  bearing  the  legend,  "  Ye  Players  of  the 
Lord  High  Admiral,"  and  long  leveled  trump 
ets,  pass  along  the  edge  of  the  highroad 
across  the  left  back  corner  of  the  stage,  to 
the  accompaniment  of  dust  and  of  trampling 
horses.  Then  men's  voices  singing:] 

'SoxG.     [Outside,  increasing,  then  dying  away. 
Tune:    "Green-Sleeves."] 
The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up, 
Sing  merrily  we,  the  hunt  is  up! 
The  wild  birds  sing, 
The  dun  deer  fling, 
The  forest  aisles  with  music  ring! 
Tantara,  tantara,  tantara! 

Then  ride  along,  ride  along, 
Stout  and  strong! 

Farewell  to  grief  and  care; 
With  a  rollicking  cheer 
For  the  high  dun  deer 

And  a  life  in  the  open  air! 


12  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

Tantara,  the  hunt  is  up,  lads ; 

Tantara,  the  bugles  bray ! 
Tantara,  tantara,  tantara! 

Hio,  hark  away ! 

[The  music,  cheering,  and  trampling  has  nearly 
died  away,  when,  enter  NICHOLAS  ATTWOOD, 
excitedly,  running  down  the  lane.] 

NICK.      [Catching  his  breath.]     Oh,  Mother! 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Embracing  him.]  Aye, 
Nick. 

NICK.     Didst  see  it,  Mother? 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  Aye,  my  lad. —  Was  it 
thou  by  the  bridge  there,  with  Robin? 

NICK.  Yes,  Mother.  Upon  the  very  highest 
coping-stones.  And  I  counted  two  and  twenty 
horses,  though  Robin  saith  there  were  but  twenty- 
one. —  Didst  see  the  drummer? —  Oh,  he  was 
the  finest  of  them  all.  What  fine  fellows  they  be! 
—  Hurrah  for  the  Lord  High  Admiral's  men ! 

[Enter,  SIMON  ATTWOOD,  by  a  flag-stoned  path 
from  behind  the  cottage.  He  is  a  gaunt,  sul 
len  man,  his  doublet  of  serge,  leathern  apron, 
and  -fustian  hose  all  stained  with  liquor  from 
the  tannery  vate.] 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  13 

ATTWOOD.  Do  I  hear  thee  praising  these  vaga 
bond  play-actors  ?  Soul  and  body  o'  man,  let 's 
ha'  na  more  on  't. 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  Why,  Simon,  the  lad 
was  but  — 

ATTWOOD.  I  know,  I  know.  But  we  poor, 
honest  folk  of  Stratford  must  slave  to  pay  for 
the  new-fangled  notions  these  sorry  fools  bring 
up  from  London-town. 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  Why,  Simon,  what  ail- 
eth  thee  to-night? 

ATTWOOD.  Why,  look  'e,  now.  Here  's  all  our 
burgesses  o'  the  town  council  ordered  me  to  build 
a  chimley  on  my  house,  because,  forsooth,  it  is  the 
fashion  now  in  London!  [Thumb  points  over 
shoulder.^  I  must  build  my  fire  in  a  pipe,  or  pay 
ten  shillings  fine !  Pah !  [He  goes  into  the  cottage.  ] 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Speaking  to  him 
through  the  doorway. ]  Nay,  but  Simon;  'twill 
be  very  handy  when  the  snows  come  and  the  east 
winds  blow. —  Dame  Hathaway  saith  she  is  as 
cozy  as  a  chick  in  an  egg  with  hers. 

NICK.  Aye,  Mother,  and  't  will  be  fine  to  read 
with  thee  before  a  fire  that  does  na  fill  the  room 
wi'  smoke. 


14  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

ATTWOOD.  [TF&Tww.]  Well,  this  litter  will 
ha'  to  be  all  took  out.  Atkins  will  be  here  at  six 
i*  the  morning  to  do  the  job. 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  The  rushes  need  a 
changing  anyway,  Simon.  Nick  shall  take  the 
hangings  down  to-night,  and  right  things  up  when 
the  chimley  's  done,  wilt  thou  not,  Nick  ? 

NICK.     Aye,  Mother. 

ATTWOOD.  [Coming  out.]  Then  let  him  be 
about  it. —  A  man  can  no  more  eat  his  meals  in 
peace  in  his  own  house.  Things  ha'  come  to  a 
pretty  pass  —  a  pretty  pass  indeed. 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  Do  na  fret  thee,  Simon. 
We  '11  sup  without,  until  the  work  be  done.  The 
air  is  sweet  and  gentle  with  the  spring. —  Come, 
Nick,  we  '11  set  the  table  yonder. 

[Exit  ATTWOOO.  MARGARET  ATTWOOD  and 
NICK  bring  out  the  table,  which  is  now  seen 
to  consist  of  two  trestles  and  a  wide  board, 
and  place  it  out  upon  the  grass.  She  ten 
derly  kisses  NICK.] 

There !  —  Thou  art  mine  own  good  little  son,  and 
I  will  bake  thee  a  cake  in  the  new  chimley  on  the 
morrow  for  thy  May-day  feast. 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  15 

[She  goes  about  preparing  the  supper,  while 
NICK  can  be  seen  inside,  putting  a  stool  upon 
the  bench  to  reach  the  topmost  hangings  on 
the  wall.  He  is  humming  the  air  of  the  play 
ers'  song.~\ 

NICK.  [Taking  down  the  hangings  and  em 
broidered  maxims.]  I  wish  Father  would  na  be 
so  cross. 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  Nay,  child,  he  has  a  true 
heart.  'T  is  the  spent  shillings  that  worry  him. 

NICK.  [Gazing  ruefully  at  "  Keep  an  Eye  on 
the  Pence  "~\  Aye,  and  the  pence  as  well !  But  he 
need  na  scold  so  because  I  cheered  the  Admiral's 
men.  [Comes  to  doorway  with  "  Overcome 
Pride  "  m  his  hands.]  They  be  dressed  as  fine  as 
any  lord. 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Setting  the  table.] 
Wouldst  like  to  be  a  player,  Nick? 

NICK.  Oh,  Mother,  that  would  I !  —  Mother, 
can  I  na  go  to  see  them  play? 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  Must  ask  thy  father, 
child.  Perchance,  an  thou  art  very  good,  he  '11 
let  thee. 

NICK.  [Turning  joyfully  back  to  his  work.] 
Ah-h,  't  would  be  —  Oh! 


16  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

[As  he  steps  upon  the  bench,  he  capsizes  the 
stool,  which  falls  to  the  floor  with  a  heavy 
thump.  He  jumps  down,  laughing.  Re'en- 
ter  ATTWOOD,  wiping  his  face  and  hands  on 
a  coarse  towel.] 

ATTWOOD.  What  madcap  folly  art  thou  up  to 
now? 

NICK.  I  be  up  to  no  folly  at  all,  sir.  I  upset 
the  stool.  There  's  no  harm  done.  [He  quickly 
hides  "  Beware  of  Sloth,"  which  he  still  holds  in 
his  hand.~\ 

ATTWOOD.  Then  be  about  thy  business. — 
Let  us  ha'  supper  quickly,  Margaret ;  I  must  away 
to  bargain  wi'  Atkins.  He  shall  do  it  more 
cheaply  than  he  saith.  [He  seats  himself  moodily 
on  a  bench  by  the  doorway.  MARGARET  ATTWOOD 
comes  out  with  a  jug  of  milk,  which  she  adds  to 
the  loaf  of  rye  bread,  the  cheese,  and  lettuce  al 
ready  on  the  table.  She  glances  once  or  twice  at 
ATTWOOD  half-fearfutty,  and  with  her  finger  on 
her  lips  significantly,  she  signs  to  NICK  to  be  care- 
ful.] 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.     Fetch  the  stools,  Nick. 

NICK.  [Entering  the  cottage  and  returning 
with  the  stools;  —  to  ATTWOOD.]  'T  is  ready, 
sir. 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  17 

[ATTWOOD  seats  himself  first.  NICK  waits  deftly 
upon  them  both,  still  without  a  word  being 
said.] 

They  say  —  they  say,  sir  —     [Stops  at  sign  from 
his  mother.] 

ATTWOOD.     Well,  hast  lost  thy  tongue? 

NICK.  Nay,  sir. —  They  say  the  players  will 
act  a  brand-new  stage-play  at  the  guild-hall  to 
morrow. —  It  is  a  very  good  company,  they  say. 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Encouragingly.] 
Where  do  they  stay  the  night,  Nick? 

NICK.  At  the  Swan  Inn.  Sir  Thomas  Lucy 
would  na  leave  them  come  to  the  Peacock  Inn,  he 
doth  mislike  them  so. 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Hurriedly,  to  check 
further  remarks  by  NICK  along  this  line.]  What 
is  the  play  called? 

NICK.  I  canna  say  surely,  Mother  —  I  ha' 
heard  tell  't  is  one  of  Ben  Jonson's.  —  [Tumul- 
tuously.]  The  play  will  be  free,  Father;  it  is 
May-day  —  may  I  go,  sir  ? 

ATTWOOD.     And  lose  thy  time  from  school? 

NICK.  There  is  no  school  to-morrow,  sir,  after 
the  morning  session. 


18  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

ATTWOOD.  Then  have  ye  naught  to  do,  that 
ye  waste  the  afternoon  in  idle  folly? 

NICK.  I  will  do  my  work  beforehand,  sir.  [His 
hand  trembles  as  he  refills  his  father's  cup.] 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  It  is  May-day,  Simon, 
and  a  bit  o'  pleasure  will  na  harm  the  lad. 

ATTWOOD.  Pleasure  ?  —  If  he  canna  find 
pleasure  enough  in  his  work,  his  book,  and  his 
home  he  shall  na  seek  it  of  low  rogues  and  stroll 
ing  scapegraces. 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [With  some  spirit.'] 
But,  Simon,  surely  they  are  not  all  graceless! 
Since  mine  own  cousin,  Anne  Hathaway,  married 
Will  Shakespeare,  't  is  scarcely  kind  to  call  all 
players  rogues. 

ATTWOOD.  No  more  o'  this,  Margaret !  — 
Thou  art  ever  too  ready  with  the  boy's  part 
against  me.  [Stands.]  He  shall  na  go. —  I'll  find 
a  thing  or  two  for  him  to  do  among  the  vats  that 
will  take  this  taste  for  idleness  out  of  his  mouth. 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.     But,  Simon  — 

ATTWOOD.  Nay,  that  be  all  there  is  on 't. 
[Exit  abruptly.] 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Softly,  to  NICK,  who 
stands  with  clenched  hands.]  Nicholas! 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  19 

NICK.     He   should  na   flout   thee   so,  Mother! 
And,  Mother,  the  Queen  goes  to  the  play.     She  — 


MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [^Fi£/&  a  tender  smile, 
drawing  him  to  her.]  Art  thou  the  Queen? 

NICK.  Nay.  But  —  the  other  boys  will  go 
and  see  it  all  ;  and  I,  on  May-day  of  all  the  year, 
to  be  sousing  hides  in  the  tannery  vats  1  — 
Surely  it  canna  be  wrong  —  • 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  To  honor  thy  father? 
—  [Stroking  his  hair.]  Nay,  lad;  it  is  thy 
bounden  duty. 

NICK.  [Slowly,  wonderingly.~\  Mother,  art 
thou  an  angel  come  down  out  of  heaven? 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Patting  his  flushed 
cheek.]  Nay;  I  be  only  the  every  -day  mother  of 
a  fierce  little  son  who  hath  many  a  hard,  hard  les 
son  to  learn.  —  Now  eat  thy  supper  —  't  will  soon 
be  growing  dark.  I  must  away  to  cousin  Anne 
Shakespeare's  to  make  her  comfortable  for  the 
night.  —  Poor  soul  !  she  hath  been  bedridden  a 
se'nnight  since.  —  And  do  thou,  lad,  when  thou 
hast  finished  eating,  get  thy  friend  Robin  Getley 
ai;d  gather  new  rushes  by  the  Shottery  path. 
'T  will  please  thy  father  well,  and  mayhap  on  the 
morrow  he  '11  let  thee  go. 


20  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

NICK.  Oh,  Mother,  thou  art  good.  [Kisses 
her  impetuously.] 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  Nay,  but  I  love  thee, 
child.  [Exit.] 

NICK.  [Sits  down  to  eat,  but  after  a  moment, 
stops,  pushes  the  food  away,  and  goes  over  to  tlie 
hedge,  staring  out  into  the  dusk  towards  the  Inn, 
where  lights  have  now  appeared  and  whence  a  faint 
sound  of  singing  comes.]  I  know  he  will  na  let 
me  go !  It  is  na  fair !  It  is  na  fair !  —  Heigho ! 
I  '11  go  and  get  the  rushes.  [Exit.] 

[The  distant  smging  grows  more  boisterous. 
Enter  soon  three  burgesses,  with  a  bailiff, 
who  is  a  regular  Dogberry,  followed  by  the 
night-watch^  at  a  little  interval  behind  them, 
with  long  staves  and  lanterns.] 

1  BURGESS.     Aye,  Master  Bailiff,  ye  see  it  hath 
no  chimney,  and  our  order  was  made  known  full 
ten  days  past. 

BAILIFF.  We  '11  have  him  i'  the  stocks  by  noon 
tide  if  he  do  na  conform. —  Muster  Attwood! 
[Knocking.]  —  Muster  ATTWOOD !  —  Naught 
within.  'S  at  the  tannery,  no  doubt. —  Here  's 
food  set  out.  'S  wife  or  son  should  be  to  home. 

2  BURGESS.     Perchance  they  be  in  the  garden. 
[Exeunt.] 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  21 

[Enter  CAREW  with  two  other  players.  CAREW 
has  a  slender,  lithe  body,  rather  tall,  and  is 
dressed  in  a  tawny  silk  jerkin.  Over  one 
shoulder  hangs  a  plum-colored  cloak;  he 
wears  high-heeled  shoes.  His  bonnet  is  of 
tawny  velvet,  fastened  by  a  jeweled  brooch, 
through  which  is  thrust  a  curly  cock-feather. 
A  broad  lace  collar  is  at  his  throat.  He  has 
a  little  pointed  beard,  and  the  ends  of  his 
mustache  stand  up  fiercely  on  each  side  of  his 
sharp  nose.  At  his  side  is  a  long  Italian 
poniard  in  a  sheath  of  russet  leather  and  sil 
ver  filagree.  He  has  a  reckless  high  and 
mighty  fiing  about  his  stride.] 

CAREW.  By  the  whistle  of  the  Lord  High  Ad 
miral,  this  country  air  doth  like  me  well.  Gad's 
boons,  't  is  a  fair  town,  in  truth. —  Methinks 
Will  Shakespeare's  wife  should  live  now  here 
abouts. 

1  ACTOR.     Aye ;  we  should  be  now  near  the  edge 
o'  the  town. —     Yon  must  be  the  way  to  Charl- 
cote. 

2  ACTOR.     Where  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  liveth? 

CAREW.  Aye,  that  "  lowsie  "  Lucy  who  hated 
our  sweet  Will  most  bitterly.  Yet,  had  he  not 
sent  Will  packing  for  stealing  of  his  deer,  the 


22  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

Lord    Chamberlain    had    lost     a    master    play 
wright. 

1  ACTOE.  True;  but  Sir  Thomas  hath  always 
been  an  ass ;  in  Parliament  as  well  as  here. 

CAEEW.  Stratford  burgesses  are  silly  sheep 
for  following  his  fool  lead. 

1  BURGESS.  [Reappearing,  angrily,  followed 
by  the  rest.~\  How?  Who  calls  us  silly  sheep, 
thou  bold-faced  rogue? 

CAEEW.  [Clapping  hand  on  poniard.] 
Rogue?  Gaston  Carew,  the  Lord  High  Admir 
al's  master-player,  rogue?  —  Thou  'dst  better 
pick  thy  words  more  tenderly,  or  it  will  work  thee 
a  mischief. 

BAILIFF.  Sir,  ye  may  na  ruffle  it  like  a  high 
duke  here.  These  be  burgesses  of  Stratford 
Council. 

CAEEW.  I  care  not  who  ye  be.  I  say  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy  is  but  the  stupid  old  bell-wether  of 
thy  flock.  Ye  let  him  drive  Will  Shakespeare 
out  of  the  town  for  a  pitiful  trifling  cause. 

1  BUEGESS.  I  tell  thee,  thou  strolling  fellow, 
Will  Shakespeare  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
deer-stealing  gallow's-bird. 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  23 

CABEW.  How  ?  By  the  Lord,  sirrah,  I  tell  thee 
that  Will  Shakespeare  is  my  own  true  friend,  and 
the  sweetest  fellow  in  all  England.  Whoever  gain- 
sayeth  it,  is  a  hemp-cracking  rascal,  and  I  will 
prove  it  on  his  back  with  a  quarter-staff,  when 
ever  and  wherever  he  may  choose. 

1  ACTOR.  Come,  Gaston,  't  will  not  serve. 
Best  cool  thy  blood.  Here  come  others. 

BAILIFF.  'T  is  Sir  Tummas  himself,  from  din 
ner  at  the  Inn. —  Now,  fellow,  thou  'It  hold  thy 
peace. 

CAREW.  Nay,  that  I  '11  not.  Be  he  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy,  St.  George  and  the  dragon,  and  all  your 
silly  burgesses,  rolled  up  in  one,  I  dare  him  come 
and  prove  my  challenge  false. 

SIR  THOMAS  LUCY.  [Entering,  pompously, 
like  a  sort  of  Sir  Toby  Belch,  with  several  follow 
ers,  after  whom  come,  softly  at  -first,  more  of  the 
players.]  What  means  this  brawling? —  Sir 
rah,  thy  fellows  are  riotously  drinking  yonder  at 
the  Swan. 

CAREW.  That,  sir,  is  no  affair  of  thine  —  or 
mine.  The  score  will  be  paid. 

LUCY.     Fie,  thou  art  a  saucy  varlet. 


m  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

CAREW.  [Bowwg  low,  laughing. ~\  Sir  Thomas, 
I  take  no  offense  from  thee  for  saying  that  —  it 
cannot  be  denied.  But  when,  as  High  Sheriff  of 
Worcester,  thou  didst  condemn  my  most  true 
friend,  Will  Shakespeare,  as  a  vagabond  thief,  and 
hadst  him  driven  from  Stratford,  [shaking  his 
forefinger  under  Sir  Thomas'  nose]  I  fling  the 
words  back  in  thy  face. 

LUCY.  Out  upon  thee !  Thy  Shakespeare  is 
the  greatest  rogue  of  all  ye  stage-playing  rabble! 

CAREW.  Thou  art  a  Dorking  cock,  dost  not 
know  the  truth  from  a  truckle-bed  in  broad  day 
light,  and  art  —  to  thy  teeth !  —  but  the  rem 
nant  of  a  gentleman  to  boot ! 

LUCY.  [Furiously.]  Thou  —  thou  bold-faced 
rascal !  —  This  shall  be  seen  to. —  Master 
Stubbes,  as  High  Bailiff  do  ye  now  deny  this  runa 
gate  rogue's  company  licenses  to  play. 

BAILIFF.  [Aghast.]  Eh?  Eh?  Deny  the 
Lord  High  Admiral's  players? 

LUCY.  [Throwing  off  angrily  the  restraining 
hand  of  a  half -fearful  follower.]  Those  were  my 
words.  Do  thy  duty,  and  see  to  it  well. 

BAILIFF.  But,  my  master,  this  will  touch  Lon 
don  town.  Beware  a  coil  with  the  Lord  High  Ad 
miral  ! 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  25 

LUCY.  Beware  thou  the  forty  pounds  thou 
owest  me. 

BAILIFF.  [Hastily,  deprecatingly.]  I  have  it 
done  e'en  now. —  Hear  ye !  Hear  ye !  [rapidly, 
and  almost  inarticulately  at  first]  Burgesses  as 
sembled  —  in  Stratford  town,  as  Bailiff,  made  and 
provided,  I  forthwith,  this  30th  day  of  April,  Anni 
Domino  1596,  do  refuse  said  company  of  strollers, 
mountebanks,  and  interluders  license  to  play 
within  the  walls  of  Stratford  town,  in  guild-hall, 
inn-yard  or  common. 

CAREW.  A  fig  for  you  all,  ye  silly  sheep! 
[Throwing  his  glove  in  the  BAILIFF'S  face.] 

PLAYERS.  [Crowding  in  back.]  Ha!  Have 
at  him! 

BURGESSES.     Fie !     For  shame ! 

BAILIFF.  Fellow!  for  that  I  seize  thee  for  con 
tempt  of  Stratford  Council,  and  hold  thee  for 
trial. 

CAREW.  [As  two  of  the  nightwatch  step  for 
ward  to  take  him.]  What!  wilt  take  me?  Un 
hand  me,  varlet,  or  by  the  Lord  High  Admiral's 
whistle,  thou  'It  rue  it  sorely. 

1  ACTOR.     Nay,  Gaston !     Beware. 


26  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

LUCY.  Take  him,  constable. —  These  stage- 
players  be  all  upstarts  of  the  same  feather. 
[Exit,  with  followers;  the  actors  steal  away  with 
a  backward  glance  or  two  at  CAKEW,  who  strug 
gles  violently  a  moment  with  the  BAILIFF  and  his 
men;  then,  being  pinioned  finally,  he  says,  as  ex 
eunt:] 

CAREW.  This  will  be  a  black  score  'gainst  ye 
all !  I  '11  be  revenged  upon  this  devil-spotted  town 
if  't  costs  the  last  remnant  of  my  tattered  honor ! 

[CURTAIN  descends  for  a  moment  to  denote  the 
passing  of  one  night.] 

[Same  scene,  early  morning.  Noise  of  a  carpen 
ter-mason  at  work  inside  the  cottage.  NICK, 
poring  over  a  book  spread  upon  the  grass,  is 
conjugating  Latm  verbs  — "  canto,  cantas,  can- 
tat  .  .  .";  but  the  noise  of  the  workman  inside 
distracts  him.] 

NICK.  Master  Atkins !  —  Master  Atkins ! ! 
—  Oh,  Master  Atkins!!! 

ATKINS.  [Stopping  his  pounding  and  coming 
to  the  window]  Well,  what 's  to  do? 

NICK.  Canst  thou  not  pound  a  little,  a  very 
tiny  little  more  softly?  A  body  canna  hear  him 
self  think  for  thy  noise! 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  27 

ATKINS.  Art  sickly  that  thou  canst  na  bide  a 
good,  round,  honest  noise? 

NICK.  I  have  na  got  my  lesson  half;  and  I 
canna  study  in  a  noise. 

ATKINS.  Then  ye  ha'  idled,  and  will  be  well 
birched  for  it  at  school. 

NICK.  Idled!  I  ha'  been  at  the  hides  in  the 
tannery  vats  from  first  cock-crow  till  ten  min 
utes  agone.  'T  is  so  I  ha'  na  learned  my  lesson. 
[As  pounding  recommences,  he  claps  both  hands 
over  his  ears,  and  recites  "  canto,  cantas,  canfat," 
in  a  dull  monotone.  Noise  ceases  suddenly;  the 
workman  comes  out,  making  towards  the  rear  of 
the  house.  NICK,  who  has  slowly  risen  as  in  de 
spair,  slamming  the  book  shut,  turns  eagerly.] 
Wilt  work  no  more  to-day? 

ATKINS.  I  be  but  going  to  mix  the  mortar. 
[Exit.] 

[Shrill    whistles    heard    outside.     Enter,    two 
Schoolboys,  running,  up  the  lane.  ] 

1  BOY.     Hast  heard  the  news? 

NICK.     What 's  amiss? 

1  BOY.     There  's  to  be  no  stage-play  after  all. 

NICK.     No  stage  play?     Why  not? 


28  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

1  BOY.  Why,  the  master-player  hath  been  ar 
rested  for  insult  to  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  —  here  upon 
the  highroad  yesternight,  while  thou  wert  with  me 
gathering  rushes. 

NICK.     Where  be  the  other  players? 

1  BOY.  Fled  out  o'  town  in  the  night,  lest 
their  goods  be  taken  by  the  law  and  they  be  fined. 

NICK.     But  whither  went  they? 

1  BOY.     To   Coventry;   and  left   the   master- 
player   behind   in   jail.     But    this    morning,    my 
father    saith,    Master    John    Shakespeare    hath 
wrought  upon  the  other  burgesses  to  set  him  free, 
and  to  give  him  a  purse  of  gold  beside  to  soothe 
him. 

NICK.     M-m!     I  wish  /  were  a  master-player! 

2  BOY.     Oh,  but  he  swears  he  '11  walk  the  whole 
way  to  Coventry  sooner  than  straddle  the  horse 
the  burgesses  sent  for  him  to  ride. 

NICK.  What!  He 's  still  at  the  Inn  ?  Let's 
go  down  and  see  him. 

2  BOY.     We  'd  best  be  off  to  school. 

1  BOY.  Master  Brunswood  will  birch  us  if  we 
be  late. 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  29 

NICK.  He  will  birch  us  like  enough  any 
way  ;  a  fellow  canna  slip  on  a  single  word  without 
a  downright  thrashing. —  I  will  na  stand  it  any 
longer ! 

1  BOY.     What  wilt  do? 
NICK.     I  '11  run  away ! 

2  BOY.     And  when  the  skies  fall,  we  '11  catch 
sparrows  !     Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

NICK.     Ye  think  I  dare  na  ? 

1  BOY.     Whither  wilt  run,  Nicky? 
NICK.     To  Coventry,  after  the  players  ! 

2  BOY.     Wilt,  indeed !     Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

NICK.  Nay,  then ;  I  '11  show  you !  'T  is  only  a 
few  miles  to  Warwick,  that 's  half  way ;  and  I 
ha'  cousins  in  Coventry.  I  '11  not  be  birched  at 
school  for  naught,  nor  worked  all  May-day  after 
noon.  There  's  bluebells  blowing  in  the  dingle,  and 
birds  a-wing  in  the  fields ;  and  while  ye  are  grind 
ing  at  your  musty  Latin,  I  shall  be  roaming  over 
the  hills,  and  I  '11  see  the  stage-play  after  all. 

2  BOY.  Oh,  no  doubt,  no  doubt  —  with  a  most 
glorious  threshing  from  thy  father  when  thou 
comest  home  to-morrow ! 


30  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

NICK.  'T  is  a  threshing  either  way :  I  '11  have 
my  good  day's  game  out  first.  [Starts  to  go.] 

1  BOY.      [Going  after  him.]     Wilt  truly  go  to 
Coventry,  Nick? 

NICK.     Aye,  truly,  Robin;  that  I  will. 

2  BOY.     [As  a  distant  bell  suddenly  sounds  two 
or  three  times.]     Hi!  hurry;  'tis  growing  late. 
There  't  ringeth.  .  .  .     [Exit,  running.] 

1  BOY.  [Starts;  turns  back  to  NICK,  evidently 
moved  a  little.]  Then  farewell,  Nick!  [Turns, 
running  after  IST  BOY  ;  exit.  ] 

[Again  the  bell  rings  once  or  twice,  distinctly, 
in  the  distance.  NICK  pauses  irresolutely  a 
moment,  looks  about  him,  picks  up  the  book 
he  had  dropped,  and,  the  beU  now  having 
stopped,  goes  slowly,  with  half-drooped  head, 
into  the  house.  Some  one  is  heard  coming 
slowly  up  the  lane,  whistling.  It  is  HODGE, 
the  clownish  boy.  He  stops,  peers  around 
half -stupidly.  NICK  reappears  in  the  door 
way,  with  a  pewter  plate  of  bread  and  cheese 
vn  his  hand.  HODGE  shows  surprise  at  seeing 
NICK.] 

HODGE.  Eh!  Nicky,  be-est  late  for  school. 
[NICK  does  not  answer,  but  begins  to  set  forth  the 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  31 

table,  putting  the  food  upon  it.~\  —     Thy  mother 
maketh  rare  good  sweet-cakes,  Nicky ! 

NICK.      [With  his  back  still  turned,]     Aye. 
HODGE.     Be-eth  thy  mother  at  home? 

NICK.  [Covering  the  table  carefully  with  a  red 
cloth,  while  he  answers.]  Nay;  she  hath  gone  to 
nurse  Mistress  Shakespeare. 

HODGE.  Whut  hast  there,  Nicky?  [Pointing 
at  table.] 

NICK.     'T  is  for  my  father. 
HODGE.     Lazy-bones ! 

NICK.  [Sharply.]  He  's  at  the  tannery  vats 
since  the  very  peep  o'  dawn ! 

HODGE.  A 's  up  betoimes  then.  A  must  be 
afeared  o'  the  light  o'  day.  [NiCK  has  gone  inside 
again,  not  listening  to  what  HODGE  says.  The 
latter  now  clumsily  but  quickly  steals  a  cake  from 
the  covered  table.  NICK  returns  and,  cap  m  hand, 
without  heeding  HODGE,  looks  around  a  moment, 
half  uncertain;  then  starts  off  towards  the  gate.] 
—  Whur  be-est  going,  Nick? 

NICK.     To  Coventry. 

HODGE.     To  Coventry! —     No  school  to-day? 


32  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

NICK.  Nay;  not  for  me.  [Looks  around  the 
place  a  little  wistfully.'} 

HODGE.  Not  for  me,  nuther.  [Watching 
NICK,  cautiously  biting,  and  finally  cramming  the 
cake,  seeing  that  NICK  does  not  look  at  him;  at  the 
same  time  continuing:]  Muster  Brunswood  saith 
that  I  ha'  learned  as  much  as  faither  ever  knowed, 
an*  't  is  enow  for  I.  Faither  saith  it  maketh 
saucy  rogues  o'  sons  to  know  more  than  they's 
own  dads. —  Why  art  going  to  Coventry,  Nick? 

NICK.     To  see  the  stage-play  there. 

HODGE.  [Staring.]  So!  Wilt  take  a  fellow 
wi'  thee  ? 

NICK.      [His  hand  on  the  gate.]      Come  on. 

HODGE.  [Perceiving  some  lack  of  enthusiasm 
in  NICK'S  reply.]  And  wull  I  see  the  play,  too? 

NICK.     The  Mayor's  show  is  free. 

HODGE.  [As  they  come  out  through  the  gate, 
which  NICK  shuts  carefully.]  Be  it  a  tailor's 
show,  Nick,  wi'  a  Herod  the  King,  and  a  rope  for 
to  hang  Judas?  [He  capers  with  delight.] 

NICK.  Pshaw !  no  ;  none  of  those  old-fashioned 
things.  I  hope  they  '11  play  a  right  good  Eng 
lish  history-play,  like  our  own  Master  Will 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  33 

Shakespeare's  "  King  John." —     He  's  become  a 
great  man  in  London  town. 

HODGE.  Wully  Shaxpur  a  great  man !  Hutty- 
tutty!  he  be  na  great.  Why,  a's  name  be  cut  on 
the  old  beech-tree  up  Snitterfield  Lane  yonder,  an* 
I  could  do  better  myself. 

NICK.  Aye,  but  he  is  great ;  he  's  called  the 
Swan  of  Avon. 

HODGE.     Hoh!     Avon  swans  be  mostly  geese* 

NICK.  Now  look  'e  here,  Hodge  Dawson,  Mas 
ter  Will  Shakespeare  married  my  mother's  cousin. 
I  will  na  have  him  called  goose. 

[Enter,  unobserved,  GASTON  CAREW,  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  lane.  He  listens  a  moment, 
with  an  expression  of  delight  growing  on  his 
face;  then  steps  aside  into  a  gap  in  the  hedge, 
which  conceals  him.} 

HODGE.  La,  now,  't  is  nowt  to  me.  But  since 
when  hath  a  been  Muster  Shaxpur?  —  that  ne'er- 
do-well  play-actor? 

NICK.  Ne'er-do-well !  It  is  na  true.  When  he 
was  here  last  summer,  he  was  as  bravely  dressed 
as  my  Lord  Admiral's  Master-Player  [CAUEW 
emerges  for  a  moment,  highly  pleased}  ;  and  he 


34  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

had  a  heap  of  good  gold  nobles  in  his  purse,  and 
shillings  to  give  away. 

HODGE.     A  fool  an'  's  money  be  soon  parted. 

NICK.  [Hotly. ~\  Will  Shakespeare  is  no  fool. 
He  's  going  to  buy  the  Great  House  in  Chapel  Lane 
and  come  back  here  to  live. 

HODGE.  Then  a  's  a  witless  zany  to  leave  Lon 
don  for  Stratford. 

NICK.     I  '11  make  thee  swallow  those  words ! 
HODGE.     I  'd  loike  to  see  thee  try  — 

NICK.  [Knocking  him  down,  and  bending  over 
him.]  There!  Didst  see.  Now  take  back  thy 
bluster  or  I  '11  box  thine  ears  besides. 

HODGE.  [Sullenly.]  Whoy,  if  't  is  all  o'  that 
to  thee,  I  take  it  back ;  but  [rising  slowly,  as  NICK 
rises;  then,  sulkily]  I  '11  na  go  where  I  be  whupped. 
[Backs  up  the  lane,  as  CAREW  dodges  behind  the 
hedge  again.]  An'  what 's  more,  thy  Muster 
Wully  Shaxpur  be-eth  an  old  gray  goose,  an'  boo 
to  he,  says  I !  [Runs  up  lane,  almost  into  CAREW, 
who  makes  a  feint  of  stopping  him  as  he  dives 
through  the  thin  hedge.  ] 

NICK.  [Calling  after  him.]  Mind  ye  this, 
thou  lout :  when  I  come  back,  I  '11  teach  thee  who 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  35 

thy  thousand-time  betters  be  —  Will  Shakespeare 
first  of  all. 

CAREW.  [Striding  down  the  lane.]  Well 
crowed,  well  crowed,  my  jolly  cockerel!  I  thank 
thee  for  it  in  Will  Shakespeare's  name.  [As  NICK 
still  stares  at  him,  CAREW'S  manner  changes  to 
fierceness.] —  What!  How  now!  Dost  like  or 
like  me  not  ? 

NICK.  Why,  sir  —  why,  sir  —  [Takes  off  his 
cap  and  bows  in  boyish  confusion.] 

CAREW.  [Dramatically,  stamping  his  foot.] 
Come,  come,  I  am  a  swashing,  ruffling,  desperate 
Dick,  and  not  to  be  made  a  common  jest  for 
Stratford  dolts  to  giggle  at.  What!  these  legs 
laid  in  the  common  stocks?  Nay,  nay  [putting  his 
hand  to  his  poniard],  some  one  should  taste  old 
Bless-his-heart  here  first! —  Dost  take  me,  boy? 

NICK.  [Hesitating.]  Why,  sir  —  ye  surely 
are  the  Master-Player. 

CAREW.  There !  Who  said  I  could  not  act  ? 
[Laughs.]  Why,  boy,  I  say  I  love  thee  now  for 
this,  since  what  hath  passed  in  Stratford.  A  mur 
rain  on  the  town!  A  black  murrain,  I  say! 
[NicK  draws  back  afraid.]  Nay,  lad,  look  not  so 
dashed.  That  was  only  old  Burbage's  tragic 


36  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

style ;  and  I  —  I  am  only  Gaston  Carew,  hail-fel 
low-well-met  with  all  true  hearts.  Be  known  to 
me,  lad ;  thy  name  ? 

NICK.     Nicholas  Attwood,  sir. 

CAREW.  Nicholas  Attwood?  Why, 't  is  a  good 
name ;  Nick  —  I  hope  old  Nick  will  never  catch  thee 
—  upon  my  word  I  do,  and  on  the  remnant  of  mine 
honor !  —  Thou  'rt  going  a  piece  by  yonder  high 
road? 

NICK.  Aye,  sir ;  to  Coventry,  to  see  thy  fellow- 
players  act. 

CAREW.  Why,  come,  thou  'It  go  along  with  me, 
then,  and  dine  with  us  this  night  at  the  Blue  Boar 
Inn ;  wilt  not  ? 

NICK.  [Bowing,  overwhelmed.]  Indeed,  sir, 
indeed  I  will,  and  that  right  gladly. 

CAREW.  [Putting  his  hand  on  NICK'S  shoulder, 
and  laughmg  gently.]  Nay,  Nick,  put  on  thy 
cap ;  we  are  but  two  good  friends  and  equal  f  aring- 
fellows  here.  [NICK  puts  on  his  cap  shyly.]  Thy 
parents, —  [turns  as  if  to  approach  the  cottage] 
good  souls  —  I  '11  speak  a  word  with  them  —  God 
save  them,  for  your  courtesy!  [takes  a  few  steps 
toward  the  house] . 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  37 

NICK.  [Confusedly.]  Nay,  nay,  sir;  they  be 
both  away  from  home. —  And  —  and  my  father, 
sir,  careth  not  for  stage-players.  He  would  na 
leave  me  go. 

CAEEW.  Not  leave  thee  go?  Why,  then,  I'll 
take  thee,  lad. —  But  we  be  ill  equipped,  i'  faith, 
for  a  long  journey.  Zooks!  I  have  not  broken 
fast  this  day.  Couldst  find  some  barley  cakes  and 
a  Banbury  cheese  to  feed  this  empty  pocket? 
'T  will  be  high  noon  and  more  before  we  see  the 
spires  of  Coventry. 

NICK.  Aye,  surely,  sir,  I  '11  fetch  some. 
[Goes  into  the  house.] 

CAREW.  [  Walking  over  to  the  hedge  and  look 
ing  off,  shading  his  eyes  with  one  hand.]  Upon 
my  word,  't  is  as  fair  a  town  as  the  heart  of  man 
could  wish.  Wish  ?  —  I  wish  't  were  sunken  in 
the  sea !  Faugh !  they  could  not  buy  my  silence 
with  two  score  gold  rose  nobles.  [He  lets  fall 
again  into  his  wallet  a  heavy  purse  which  he  has 
just  removed]  I  '11  have  my  vengeance  on  them 
all. 

NICK.  [Inside  the  cottage,  singing  joyously  an 
old-fashioned  madrigal  with  a  warbling  refrain, 
like  a  lark's  song,  which  may  be  done  mechanically 
behind  the  scenes:] 


38  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

Hey,  laddie,  hark  to  the  merry,  merry  lark ! 

How  high  he  singeth  clear : 
Oh,  a  morn  in  spring  is  the  sweetest  thing 

That  cometh  in  all  the  year. 

CAREW.  [Starting.]  My  soul!  my  soul!  — 
It  is  not  —  nay,  it  cannot  be  —  why,  't  is  —  it  is 
the  boy!  Upon  my  heart,  he  hath  a  skylark 
prisoned  in  his  throat! 

NICK.      [StiU  singing:] 

Ring,  ting,  it  is  the  merry  springtime ; 

How  full  of  heart  a  body  feels ! 
Sing  hey,  trolly-lolly!  oh,  to  live  is  to  be  jolly, 

When  springtime  cometh  with  the  summer  at 
her  heels. 

CAREW.  Why,  there  5s  melting  gold  in  the 
lad's  sweet  voice !  In  London  he  would  soon  — 
Nay  —  What !  —  By  my  soul ! 

NICK.  [Still  inside,  but  coming  out  at  the  last 
of  his  warbling  trill:] 

God  save  us  all,  my  jolly  gentlemen, 

We  '11  merry  be  to-day ; 
For  the  cuckoo  sings  till  the  greenwood  rings, 

And  it  is  the  month  of  May ! 
Ring,  ting  .  . 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  39 

CAREW.  [As  NICK  comes  toward  him  with  a 
crockful  of  barley  cakes.]  Well  sung,  well  sung, 
Master  Skylark!  Where  didst  thou  learn  that 
wonder-song? 

NICK.  Why,  Mother  learned  me  part,  and  the 
rest  —  just  came,  I  think,  sir. 

CAREW.  Why,  lad,  thy  voice  —  But,  soft  — 
[Looks  sharply  around.]  Thy  father  is  not  near? 
Thou  'rt  sure? 

NICK.     Nay,  sir ;  he  's  off  at  the  tannery. 
CAREW.     Dost  know  any  other  songs? 

NICK.  I  know  Master  Will  Shakespeare's 
"  Hark,  hark,  the  lark,"  and  "  The  ousel-cock  so 
black  of  hue,  with  orange-tawny  bill,"  and  the 
throstle's  song  that  goes  with  it. 

CAREW.  Why,  to  be  sure  thou  knowest  old 
Nick  Bottom's  song;  for  is  not  thy  name  Nick? 
Well  met,  well  met,  I  say. 

NICK.     Oh,  sir  —  I  — 

CAREW.  Nay,  I  do  not  care  to  hear  thee  talk. 
Sing.  Sing  all  thy  songs.  I  am  hungry  as  a  wolf 
for  songs,  dear  Nick,  and  thou  wilt  sing  them  all 
for  me  ? 


40  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

NICK.  Aye,  surely,  sir.  But  wilt  thou  have 
the  barley  cakes  ? 

CAREW.  My  soul,  I  had  forgot  the  cakes. 
[Takes  them,  and  NICK  carries  back  the  empty 
crock.}  —  I  '11  do  it !  I  '11  do  it  if  I  dance  on  air 
for  it !  I  '11  have  it  out  of  canting  Stratford  town, 
or  may  I  never  thrive !  My  soul !  the  very  thing. 
His  eyes  are  like  twin  holidays  and  he  breathes  the 
breath  of  spring.  Nicholas,  Nick  Skylark  — 
Master  Skylark  —  why,  'tis  just  the  name. — 
I  '11  do  it,  upon  my  word,  and  on  the  remnant  of 
mine  honor ! 

NICK.  [Having  come  out  again,  as  he  speaks 
the  last  words.}  Did  ye  speak  to  me,  sir? 

CAREW.  Nay,  Nicholas,  I  was  talking  to  the 
man  i'  the  moon. 

NICK.     Why,  sir,  the  moon  is  not  up  yet. 

CAREW.  [Laughing.}  To  be  sure ;  the  silvery 
jade  has  missed  the  first  act. 

NICK.  The  first  act?  What  will  ye  play  for 
the  Mayor's  show,  in  Coventry? 

CAREW.  [Still  staring  at  him.}  I  know  not, 
—  something  to  catch  the  pence  of  the  Mayday 
crowd. 


'What!      How    now?"  cried   the   stranger,    sharply.     "Dost   like   or 
like  me  not?" 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  41 

NICK.  [Greatly  distressed.]  Why,  I  thought 
the  May -day  play  'd  be  free  —  I  have  not  a 
farthing ! 

CAREW.  Tut,  tut,  thou  silly  lad!  Am  I  thy 
friend  for  naught?  Why,  Nick,  I  love  thine  open, 
pretty  face. —  Canst  thou  speak  lines  by  heart? 
—  Here,  scan  this  paper  o'er.  [Gives  him  a 
paper  from  a  roll  that  he  takes  out  of  one  side  of 
his  •wallet.] 

NICK.     Why,  sir,  it  is  a  part ! 

CAREW.  A  part,  to  be  sure  —  and  a  part  of  a 
very  good  whole,  too;  and  do  thou  just  learn  that 
part,  good  Master  Skylark,  as  we  walk  along  to 
gether,  and  thou  shalt  say  it  in  the  day's  play. 

NICK.  [Gasping.]  What,  Master  Carew! 
I?  With  the  Lord  Admiral's  players? 

CAREW.  [Clapping  NICK  on  the  back,  as 
HODGE,  unobserved,  thrusts  his  head  through  the 
hedge  and  gapes  in  astonishment.]  Why,  surely; 
and  thou  shalt  sing  Tom  Hey  wood's  newest  song; 
it  is  a  lark-song  like  thine  own. 

NICK.  [Still  amazed  with  joy,  and  hesitating.] 
But  —  will  they  have  me,  sir  ? 

CAREW.  Have  thee  ?  What !  I  am  master 
here.  And  I  tell  thee,  Nick,  that  thou  shalt  see 


42  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

the  play  to-day,  and  be  the  play,  in  part  —  to 
day,  aye  ;  —  and  perchance  thereafter,  too  !  — 
But,  come,  Master  Skylark;  let  us  jog  along  for 
Coventry.  [Exeunt;  CAREW  buoyantly,  one  arm 
lightly  resting  upon  the  lad's  shoulders.] 

HODGE.  [Emerging  from  the  hedge,  staring 
for  a  moment  after  the  retreating  figures  and  shak 
ing  his  fist  at  tJiem,  now  runs  back  of  the  cottage 
in  the  direction  of  the  tannery,  shoutmg]  Mus 
ter  Attwood!  Muster  Attwood!  Oh-ee,  Muster 
Attwood! 


MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Entering  from  the  far 
end  of  the  lane,  and  coming  down  to  enter  the  cot 
tage  gate.]  Now,  why  should  Hodge  be  calling 
Simon?  [Slowly  coming  on.]  'T  was  foolish  of  me 
to  forget  that  brew  of  herbs.  [Seeing  the  un 
touched  table.]  What's  here?  He  hath  not  had  his 
breakfast  yet  ;  but  Nick  hath  laid  it  out  for  him 
before  he  left  for  school,  —  my  good,  dear  lad! 

[Cries  outside.  Enter  ATTWOOD,  from  the 
rear  of  the  cottage,  holding  HODGE  by  the  ear] 

ATTWOOD.  He  said  to  thee  he  was  na  going  to 
school  na  more? 

HODGE.  Aye,  sir,  that  a  did.  And  a  went 
away  wi'  a  play-actorin'  fellow  in  a  plum-colored 


ACT  I  MASTER  SKYLARK  43 

cloak;   and  play-actorin'   fellow   said   a  loved  tin 
like  a's  own,  an' — 

ATTWOOD.     He  went  towards  Coventry? 

HODGE.  Aye ;  an'  play-actorin'  fellow  said  a  'd 
put  un  in  the  play,  an'  he  should  sing  a  song. — 
Now,  le'  me  go,  Muster  Attwood ;  cross  my  heart, 
't  is  all  I  know.  [He  is  released,  and  exit  hur 
riedly.] 

ATTWOOD.  [Slowly,  raising  his  hand,  and  let 
ting  it  fall.~\  He  hath  gone  his  own  wilful  way. 
Let  him  follow  it  to  the  end. 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Breathlessly,  coming 
to  ATTWOOD.]  Simon!  Is 't  my  Nicholas  ye 
mean  ? 

ATTWOOD.  Aye;  never  speak  to  me  of  him 
again.  [Thrusts  Tier  from  him  sternly  with  a 
gesture  of  his  hand, —  not  physical  violence,  how 
ever;  he  is  an  unhappy  Puritan,  but  not  a  brute.] 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Still  clinging,  and 
reaching  as  if  to  catch  his  hand  or  arm,  pressing 
towards  him  piteously,  pleading.]  Oh,  Simon! 
Be  not  so  hard ! 

ATTWOOD.  He  hath  gone  away  to  join  a  pack 
of  stage-playing  rascals  and  vagabonds  — 


44  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  I 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Supplicatingly,  but 
hesitating,  pausing,  no  longer  striving  to  cling 
upon  his  arm.]  But,  Simon! 

ATTWOOD.  [He  checks  her  again  with  a  ges 
ture,  impressive  and  forbidding.]  Nay.  He 's 
no  longer  son  of  mine.  This  house  shall  ne'er  be 
home  for  him  again !  [He  goes  into  the  cottage, 
takes  down  a  huge  leather  Bible  from  the  shelf,  and 
sits  down  blindly  with  it  unopened  in  his  Zap.] 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Sinking  on  the  door- 
sill,  sobbing.]  Oh,  Nick!  My  little  Nicholas! 


[CURTAIN] 


[End  of  ACT  I] 


ACT  II 

[Mid-afternoon,  same  day.  A  tavern  room  in 
Coventry  (the  Blue  Boar  Inn),  filled  with  the 
Lord  Admiral's  players,  drinking,  dicing,  play 
ing  at  cards,  and  talking  loudly,  at  several 
rough  tables.  A  landlord  and  barmaid  bustling 
about,  supplying  flagons  and  mugs  of  wine  and 
ale  from  a  quaint  small  bar  at  the  rear.  The 
back  wall  of  the  room  runs  diagonally  across 
the  stage,  from  left  center  back  to  right 
front.  One  door,  to  the  left,  opens  evir 
dently  upon  the  street,  for  frequently  there  is 
heard  in  its  vicinity  the  disturbing  clang  of  a 
smithy's  anvil.  Another  door,  in  the  back  wall, 
to  the  right,  opens  upon  the  inn-yard,  where 
there  has  been  rigged  up  a  rude  stage.  This  is 
visible  partially  through  the  three  large,  low, 
small-paned  windows,  set  in  the  back  wall;  but 
later,  the  tapestries  in  front  of  the  windows  are 
pulled  back  sufficiently  to  allow  the  audience  to 
see  fully  the  players  outside  upon  the  stage.  The 
interior  stage  seen  through  the  three  windows, 

should  be  very  brilliantly  lighted  from  overhead, 
45 


46  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  II 

as  if  by  the  sun  from  the  open  sky.  The  fore-' 
front  stage,  the  tavern-room,  should  be  less 
brightly  lighted,  particularly  at  the  time  when 
the  principal  action  is  beyond  the  window^ 
openings. 

Laughter    as    the   curtain    rises.     Business    with 
bar-maid  and  players.~\ 

1    PLAYER.     Well,   Tom,   I   wonder  how  bold 
Gaston  fares. 

HEYWOOD.     'T  was  a  scurvy  trick  to  take  his 
horse  away. 

1  PLAYER.     Nay,  Tom  Heywood;  Gaston  hath 
earned  naught  but  his  just  deserts  for  his  high  and 
mighty  speech. 

2  PLAYER.     Aye ;  we  need  not  rack  our  brains ; 
trust  that  same  nimble  tongue  to  fetch  him  forth. 

1  PLAYER.     I  '11    wager    he 's    now    upon    the 
way  [rising  and  striding  fiercely  about,  to  imitate 
CAREW],  cursing  Stratford  at  every  step  he  takes, 
for   a   vile,   moth-eaten,   moldy   town   with   whey- 
brained,   slop- jawed,   shovel-faced   fools   for  bur 
gesses  !     [Laughter.] 

2  PLAYER.      [To  GOOLE.]     Look  'e,  Gregory, 
dost  not  think  that  thy  sweet  master  will  be  here 
anon  ? 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  47 

GOOLE.     [Sullenly.]     Nay,  I  trow  not. 

2  PLAYER.  Perchance  thou  dost  not  think  at 
all!  [Laughter.] 

GOOLE.     [Angrily]     How  should  I  know? 

1  PLAYER.  Why  shouldst  thou  know?  Gad- 
zooks,  art  not  his  groom?  Was  it  not  thou  that 
took  his  horse  ?  Methinks  thou  'st  served  him  long 
enow  to  be  hard  put  to  dodge  the  hangman  thine 
own  self.  [Prolonged  laughter.] —  [To  LAND 
LORD.]  More  wine  here,  sirrah. 

HEYWOOD.  But  truly  if  he  come  not,  we  '11  have 
a  sweet  to-do  to  fill  his  place  this  day. 

1  PLAYER.     Oh,  trust  Phil  Henslowe  for   all 
that. 

HENSLOWE.  Nay,  we  cannot  stand  his  loss  one 
little  day,  since  Burbage  weaned  Will  Shakespeare 
from  us. 

2  PLAYER.     Gaston  will  be  here  in  time.    Didst 
not  see  how  Master  John  Shakespeare,  for  sweet 
Will's  sake,  didst  stand  by  Gaston  in  the  fracas? 

1  PLAYER.  Aye,  truly  —  and,  pat,  he  comes ! 
[Enter  CAREW,  with  NICK.]  What,  ho!  [All 
look  up  and  shout  loudly,  raising  their  flagons.] 
We  missed  ye,  Gaston ! 


48  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  II 

CAREW.  [Stepping  forward,  ironically.] 
Thanks  for  these  plaudits,  gentle  friends.  I  have 
returned. 

1  AND  2  PLAYERS.     Aye. — We  see  that  ye  have, 
Gaston.      [Laughter.] 

CAREW.  Ye  fled,  and  left  me  to  be  spoiled  by 
the  spoiler;  but  I  have  left  the  spoiler  spoiled. 
[He  displays  the  purse  given  him  by  the  burgesses. 
Then,  laying  his  hand  on  NICK'S  shoulder  and  bow 
ing  to  them  all  graciously.]  Be  known,  be  known 
all !  Gentlemen,  my  Lord  Admiral's  Players,  Mas 
ter  Nicholas  Skylark,  the  sweetest  singer  in  all 
England!  [Nicx  hangs  his  head  in  confusion  as 
the  players  stare  at  him,  m  surprise  at  first,  and 
then  with  grins  and  wmks  at  CAREW.  Some  begin 
to  laugh.]  It  is  no  jest.  He  hath  a  sweeter  voice 
than  Colley  Cyril's,  the  best  in  London.  I  '11  stake 
my  honor  on  it ! 

2  PLAYER.     Hast  any,  Gaston?      [Laughter.] 

CAREW.  [In  a  high  voice.]  Now,  hark  'e, 
Fulk  Sandells;  what  I  say  is  so,  upon  my  word, 
and  on  the  remnant  of  mine  honor !  And  this  very 
hour  ye  shall  see,  for  he  is  to  sing  in  the  play  with 
us. —  Come,  Nick. 

[They  stare  curiously  at  NICK  again,  but  CAREW 
takes  him  over  to  a  table  where  HEYWOOD  and 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  49 

HENSLOWE  are  seated.     NICK  bows  to  them 
politely.] 

HEYWOOD.     [Kindly.]     Wilt    drink    with    me, 

my  lad  ? 

NICK.  [Hesitatingly.]  Nay, —  if  you  please, 
sir.  I  do  na  care  for  it. 

SEVERAL  PLAYERS.  [Coming  towards  the 
table.  Same  one  speaks  -first  and  last  phrases.] 
What !  a  player,  and  no  wine  ?  —  Will  he  not 
drink  ?  —  Here,  thou  shalt  drink,  boy. 

CAREW.  [Scowling,  and  clapping  his  hand  on 
his  poniard.]  Nay,  Fulk;  we'll  have  no  more  o* 
that.  [They  laugh.  SANDELLS,  who  has  drawn 
himself  up,  as  if  to  face  CAREW,  thinks  better  of 
it  and  draws  back.]  Be  off,  and  make  ready  for 
the  play.  The  gentry  were  crowding  up  the  lane 
even  as  we  entered. 

[A  player  goes  to  the  inn-yard  door  and  opens 
it  a  crack,  whereat  a  hum  of  voices  becomes 
audible  for  a  moment.  He  closes  the  door.] 

NICK.  But,  kind  gentlemen,  I  wtti  drink  with 
Je- 

CAREW.  There,  sirs! —  Spoken  like  a  man, 
Nick. 


50  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  II 

NICK.  Only,  if  ye  please,  sirs,  I  should  like  it 
to  be  a  mug  —  o'  milk. 

CAKEW.  Good  for  thee,  my  Skylark.  We  will 
not  have  thee  burn  thy  tender  throat.  [Calling 
aside.]  Here,  Landlord,  milk. —  We  '11  sup 
more  heartily  after  thy  part  in  the  play.  [Exit 
LANDLORD.] 

2  PLAYER.  But,  Gaston,  he  should  sing  for 
us  now. 

CAREW.  Nay,  but  he  '11  not.  He  must  have 
rest  before  his  turn  comes.  If  any  of  ye  had 
left  a  beast  for  us  to  ride  upon,  he  should  have 
sung  for  thee  an  hour  agone.  Now  ye  must  wait. 

HENSLOWE.  But,  Gaston,  hast  heard  him  sing 
upon  a  stage? 

CAREW.  [Shortly.]  Hark  'e,  Phil  Henslowe, 
and  all  of  ye.  I  say  the  boy  can  sing.  And  sing 
he  shall,  shortly,  in  the  play. —  And  Hey- 
wood,  he  hath  learned  thy  latest  song. —  But  not 
a  whit  before  't  is  time.  Do  ye  take  me? 

[The  other  players  withdraw,  and  make  ready 
for  the  play.  The  tables  are  pushed  back, 
some  musical  instruments  made  ready,  and 
their  costumes  furbished  up  and  embellished 
from  wallets  and  saddle-bags.  The  LAND- 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  51 

LORD  brings  NICK  his  mug  of  milk,  mean 
while,  and  some  sweet-cakes.  The  boy  bends 
his  head  and  murmurs  a  grace,  at  which 
CAREW  and  HEY  WOOD  look  at  him  curiously. 
The  other  players  stare  and  smile;  but  no 
one  laughs. 

A  player  opens  the  inn-yard  door  again.  Ex 
eunt  others  with  flute,  viol,  git  tern,  cymbals, 
fiddles,  to  take  their  places  m  the  outer  bal 
cony  overlooking  the  inn-yard  stage.  There 
are  outside  steps  to  this,  which  can  be  seen 
as  another  player  inside  draws  back  the  win 
dow  tapestries.  Three  or  four  dandies  can 
be  seen  assembling  upon  the  stage  and  seat 
ing  themselves  upon  stools.  A  girl  moves 
among  them  with  cherries  for  sale.  Their 
voices  are  plainly  audible  as  long  as  the  door 
remains  ajar.] 

VOICES.     Good-day,   fair   Master   Harrington! 
—     Good-day,  Sir  Thomas  Parks! 

GIRL.     Cherry  ripe,  cherry  ripe !     Who  '11  buy 
my  sweet  May  cherries? 

VOICES.     Good-day,  sweet  Master  Nettleby !  — 
Good-day,  good-day! 

GIRL-.     Here,  sirs,  sweet  sugared  cakes  and  gin 
ger  nuts. 


52  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  II 

VOICE.  Way,  sirs,  way  for  my  lord,  the  Earl 
of  Warwick! 

ANOTHER  VOICE.     Room  here!     Room  here!! 

[The  player  lets  the  tapestry  fall  again,  and 
the  door  is  also  shut.~\ 

CAREW.  [To  HEYWOOD.]  Upon  my  soul, 
Tom,  't  would  seem  that  Puck  had  burst  a  honey- 
bag  in  his  throat. 

HEYWOOD.  No  doubt,  no  doubt.  He  hath  a 
sweet  face,  too.  But  where  didst  find  him,  Gas- 
ton? 

CAREW.  \_Rismg. ~\  That  were  too  long  a  tale. 
— 'T  is  time  for  the  prologue's  signal. 

HEYWOOD.  [To  NICK,  who  is  finishing  his 
lunch.]  We  shall  seem  rough  fellows  to  such  as 
thee,  my  lad. 

[CAREW  has  opened  the  door,  and  as  he  g'wes 
the  signal  to  the  Prologue,  there  is  a  crash  of 
music.] 

A  VOICE.  Good  citizens  of  Coventry  and  high 
born  gentles  all:  know  ye  now  that  we,  the  players 
of  the  company  of  his  Grace,  Charles,  Lord  How 
ard,  High  Admiral  of  England,  Ireland,  Wales, 
Calais,  and  Boulogne,  the  marches  of  Normandy, 
Gascony,  and  Acquitaine,  Captain-General  of  the 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  53 

Navy  and  the  Seas  of  Her  Gracious  Majesty  the 
Queen  —  [cheers  from  the  inn-yard,  and  pro 
longed  shouting,  "  God  save  good  Queen  Bess!  "] 
—  will,  with  your  kind  permission,  play  forthwith 
the  laughable  comedy  of  "  The  Three  Gray 
Gowns,"  by  Master  Thomas  Heywood,  in  which 
will  be  spoken  many  good  things,  old  and  new, 
and  a  brand-new  song  will  be  sung.  Now,  harken 
all ;  — •  the  play  begins. 

[A  crash  of  music,  as  CAREW  shuts  the  door 
again.  He  has  been  exchanging  words  with 
HENSLOWE  during  the  preceding,  while  keep 
ing  an  eye  on  the  stage  without.] 

CAREW.  Nay,  I  say  one  fourth  of  the  whole 
receipts,  over  and  above  my  old  share. 

HENSLOWE.  Zounds,  man,  do  ye  think  we  have 
a  spigot  in  El  Dorado?  This  trip  has  lost  us  a 
bagful  of  shillings  already.  There  's  naught  we 
play  will  please ;  — 't  is  "  Shakespeare,  Shake 
speare  ! "  everywhere.  I  wish  we  had  him  back ! 

CAREW.  But,  man,  ye  've  heard  Will  say  him 
self,  "  There  's  a  tide  leads  on  to  fortune  if  ye 
but  take  it  at  the  flood."  Come,  one  fourth  over 
my  old  share,  and  I  will  fill  your  purse  so  full  of 
gold  that  it  will  gape  like  a  stuffed  toad.  His  is 
the  sweetest  voice  that  ever  sugared  ears. 


54  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  II 

HENSLOWE.  [Looking  at  NICK,  who  is  fur 
tively  studying  his  lines,  since  HEYWOOD  left  him 
to  go  upon  the  stage. ~\  But,  man,  man,  one 
fourth ! 

CAREW.  Better  one  fourth  than  lose  it  all. — 
But,  pshaw,  Nat  Gyles  will  take  him  on  to  lead  the 
choir  boys  of  St.  Paul's.  [He  strides  over  to 
NICK.]  Well,  Nicholas,  hast  all  in  mind? 

NICK.  I  think  so,  sir. —  It  goes,  "  Good  my 
lord,  I  bring  a  letter  from  the  Duke — " 

CAREW.  [Laughing.]  Nay,  nay;  not  so. 
Now  mark :  "  Good  my  lord,  I  bring  a  letter  from 
the  Duke  " —  as  if  thou  hadst  indeed  a  letter,  see, 
as  I  told  thee,  and  not  an  empty  fist.  And  when 
thou  dost  hand  it  to  him,  do  it  thus  —  and  not  as 
if  thou  wert  about  to  stab  him  in  the  paunch  with 
a  cheese  knife! 

NICK.  "  Good  my  lord,  I  bring  a  letter  from 
the  Duke  — " 

CAREW.  Excellent,  i'  faith!  [Clapping  him 
on  the  shoulder.]  'T  is  nearly  time  for  thee. 
[He  strides  to  the  door  again,  gnawing  his  mus 
tache.  He  comes  hurrying  back.]  —  Ready 
now,  lad.  [They  pass  over  to  the  door,  and 
CAREW  listens  a  moment.]  Go  straight  down 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  55 

front  now  as  I  told  thee  —  mind  thy  cues  — 
speak  boldly  —  sing  as  thou  didst  sing  for  me, — 
and  if  thou  wouldst  not  break  thy  mother's  heart 
and  mine,  do  not  fail  me  now!  [He  opens  the 
door.] 

A  VOICE.     "  How  now,  who  comes  ?  " 
CAREW.     [Softly.]     Now.     Go! 

[Exit  NICK.  At  the  same  time,  two  other  play 
ers  slip  over  to  the  windows  and  push  back 
the  tapestries  farther,  to  gaze  out  them 
selves,  thus  revealing  to  the  audience  the 
larger  part  of  the  play-stage,  which  should 
now  be  very  brilliantly  lighted,  while  the 
lights  of  the  fore-stage  are  turned  down  a  bit. 
There  is  a  painted  sign  visible  at  the  rear, 
reading,  in  olden  lettering,  "  This  is  a  room 
in  Master  Jonah  Jackdawe's  House."  NICK 
comes  into  view,  hesitatingly.] 

A  PLAYER.  [Upon  the  rude  stage.]  "I'll 
match  him  for  the  ale ! " 

NICK.  Good  my  lord,  I  bring  a  letter  —  a  let 
ter  —  a  letter  from  the  Duke  — 

A  VOICE.  [Rudely  mocking  as  NICK  pauses  in 
confusion.]  Whoy,  bullies,  there  be  hayseed  in 
his  hair.  I'  fecks  they  've  plucked  him  green  1 


56  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  II 

[Boisterous  laughter.  CAREW  claps  his  hand 
upon  his  poniard  and  scowls  through  the  door 
way.  One  of  the  players  behind  NICK  whis 
pers  in  his  ear  to  prompt  him.  NICK  is  more 
confused.] 

NICK.  I  bring  —  a  good  letter  from  my  lord 
the  Duke —  [The  crowd  jeers  as  he  stops 
again.] 

CAREW.  [Calling  softly,  but  fiercely.]  Sing 
up,  thou  little  fool ! 

NICK.  [As  music  of  a  viol  and  gittern  breaks 
in  upon  the  growing  disturbance  of  the  crowd; 
straightening  up  and  beginning  to  sing:] 

Pack,  clouds,  away,  and  welcome  day ; 

With  night  we  banish  sorrow; 
Sweet  air,  blow  soft;  mount,  larks,  aloft, 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow! 
Wings  from  the  wind  to  please  her  mind, 

Notes  from  the  lark  I  '11  borrow ; 
Bird,  prune  thy  wing,  nightingale  sing, 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow; 
To  give  my  Love  good-morrow 
Notes  from  the  lark  I  '11  borrow. 

[A  warbling  bird-like  trill  here,  similar  to  that 
in  ACT  I,  with  appropriate  music.  Silence. 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  57 

Then  a  great  shout  of  applause.  HEYWOOD, 
on  the  stage,  jumps  to  his  feet.  NICK, 
frightened,  runs  back,  through  the  stage- 
door,  into  CAREW'S  arms.] 

CAREW.  Quick,  quick!  Go  back.  Dost  thou 
not  hear  them  call? 

[NiCK,  thrust  out  upon  the  play-stage  again, 
stands  bewildered.  HEYWOOD  comes  up  and 
slips  a  coin  into  his  hand.  Then  CAREW 
leads  him  down  the  stage,  bowi/ng.  Shouting 
and  applause.} 

A  VOICE.  [As  before.}  Whoy,  bullies!  did  a 
not  say  't  was  catched  out  in  the  fields  ?  It  be  a 
skylark  sure  enough. 

VOICES.  Sing  it  again !  The  Skylark  —  the 
Skylark! 

NICK.  [To  CAREW.]  Why,  Master  Carew, 
do  they  mean  me  ? 

CAREW.     Aye,  Nick ;  't  is  thou. 
[Music  as  before,  and  song  again:} 

Wake  from  thy  nest,  Robin-red-breast, 

Sing,  birds,  in  every  farrow; 
And  from  each  hill,  let  music  shrill 

Give  my  fair  love  good-morrow ! 


58  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  II 

Blackbird  and  thrush  in  every  bush, 

Stare,  linnet,  and  cock-sparrow ! 

You  pretty  elves,  amongst  yourselves 

Sing  my  fair  Love  good-morrow; 

To  give  my  Love  good-morrow 

Sing,  birds,  in  every  furrow. 

[Applause,  NICK  and  CAREW  come  back  into  the 
tavern  room,  while  the  play  goes  on.  The 
door  is  now  closed,  and  the  curtains  partly 
drawn.] 

CAREW.  [With  his  arm  around  NICK'S  shoul 
ders.]  Now,  lad,  we  '11  have  the  finest  supper  in 
the  town. —  Landlord,  what,  ho! 

PLAYERS.  [Three  or  four  of  them,  already  in 
the  tavern  room  and  waiting  for  further  cues, 
come  crowding  around  NICK,  slapping  each  other 
on  the  back  and  clapping  him  gently  on  the  shoul 
ders.]  Good  boy! —  Thou 'rt  a  rare  and 
golden  Skylark !  —  'T  is  true. 

LANDLORD.  [Bobbing  in  obsequiously.]  Didst 
call,  sir? 

CAREW.  [Haughtily.]  Here,  sirrah,  fetch 
the  boy  some  fine  repast,  I  care  not  what,  so  it  be 
wholesome  food  —  a  green  Banbury  cheese,  some 
sinnel  bread  and  oat-cakes;  a  pudding,  hark  'e, 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  59 

sweet  and  full  of  plums,  with  honey,  and  a  pasty 
—  a  meat  pasty,  marry,  a  pasty  made  of  fat  and 
toothsome  eels ;  and,  moreover,  fellow,  ale  to  wash 
it  down  —  none  of  thy  penny  ale,  but  snapping 
good  brew  —  dost  take  me  ?  —  with  beef  and  mus 
tard,  tripe,  herring,  and  a  fat  roast  capon,  stuffed 
with  spiced  carrots  and  broiled  to  a  turn! 

LANDLORD.     [Gaping.]     But,  Master  — 

CAREW.  How  now!  Dost  think  I  cannot  pay 
the  score? 

LANDLORD.  Nay,  nay ;  but,  sir,  where  —  where 
will  he  put  it  all  without  bursting  into  bits? 

CAREW.  [Sharply.]  Be  off  with  thee.  We  '11 
manage  it.  [Laughingly,  to  NICK.]  Nay,  Nick; 
the  more  we  leave  from  supper,  the  more  we  '11 
have  for  breakfast.  And  thou  'It  need  a  good 
breakfast  to  ride  on  all  day  long. 

NICK.  Ride?  Why,  sir,  I  was  minded  to  walk 
back  to  Stratford,  and  keep  my  gold  rose-noble 
whole.  [Looking  at  the  coin  which  HEYWOOD  had 
given  him.] 

CAREW.  [Scornfully.]  Walk?  Thou,  with 
thy  golden  throat?  Nay,  Nicholas  [chucHing, 
as  LANDLORD  brings  in  jug  and  mugs  and  fills  one 
for  CAREW,  who  drinks],  thou 'It  ride  to-morrow 


60  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  II 

like  a  king,  and  have  all  Stratford  wait  for  thee. 
[Chuckles  again.] 

NICK.  [Bowing.']  Why,  Master  Carew,  thou 
art  kind.  I  thank  ye,  sir. 

CAREW.  Art  welcome. —  What  sayest?  — 
I  '11  ride  a  ten-mile  race  with  thee  to-morrow  as 
we  go? 

NICK.  Why,  are  ye  going  back  to  Stratford 
to  play,  after  all? 

CAREW.  Nay,  not  for  a  bushel  of  good  gold 
Harry  shovel-boards.  But  we  shall  ride  a  piece 
with  thee,  Nicholas;  we  shall  ride  a  piece  with 
thee. 

NICK.  And  ye  will  tell  me  when  to  turn  into 
the  Stratford  road? 

CAREW.  Aye,  that  will  I.  I  know  the  road 
thou  art  to  ride  much  better  than  thou  dost  thy 
self.  [Chuckles,  as  part  of  the  feast  is  brought 
in  and  set  before  NICK.  HEYWOOD,  with  another 
player,  enters  from  the  stage-door,  the  former  ap 
proaching  NICK  quietly.]  —  Now,  thou  songster 
of  the  silver  tongue,  break  thy  fast. 

HEYWOOD.  [Standing  with  his  feet  apart  and 
stttl  staring  at  NICK,  with  pity  in  his  voice.]  And 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  61 

I  have  writ  two  hundred  plays-,  yet  never  saw  thy 
like.  Lad,  lad,  thou  'rt  a  jewel  in  a  wild  swine's 
snout. 

CAREW.  Come,  Heywood;  we  are  all  in  the 
same  sty. 

HEYWOOIX  [Firmly.]  Speak  for  thyself,  Gat 
Carew.  I  '11  have  no  hand  in  this.  [CAREW 
scowls.  HEYWOOD,  sitting  down  beside  NICK, 
puts  his  arm  around  the  boy's  shoulders.]  — 
So  we  are  to  have  thee  with  us  awhile. 

NICK.  Just  for  to-night,  sir.  I  am  going  home 
to-morrow,  sir. 

CAREW.  But,  Nick,  let  me  ask  one  favor  of  thee 
first.  To-morrow  night  we  play  in  old  St.  Al- 
bans'  town,  and  I  have  promised  Tom  Heywood 
here  that  thou  shouldst  sing  his  song  again  for  us. 
'T  will  break  our  hearts  if  thou  wilt  not.  [NiCK 
shakes  his  head.  CAREW,  coaxingly.~\  Come, 
Nick,  thou  'It  sing  it  once  again,  and  set  old  Al- 
bans'  town  afire? 

NICK.  Nay,  sir;  I  could  na  stay  from  home 
so  long. 

CAREW.  Why,  Nick,  we  're  fain  to  hear  thy 
clear,  sweet  voice  once  more.  Sing  us  one  little 
song  again,  as  thou  alone  in  all  the  world  canst 


62  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  II 

sing,  and  on  my  word,  and  on  the  remnant  of  mine 
honor,  I  '11  see  thee  safe  to  Stratford  town  the 
next  bright  morning  after. 

NICK.  [Hesitatingly.]  But  can  ye  send  my 
mother  word  that  I  be  safe? 

CAREW.  Aye,  marry,  that  we  can,  by  the  next 
carrier. 

[HEYWOOD  has  not  heard  the  last  two  remarks, 
as  a  player  had  come  up  to  him  to  ask  a  ques 
tion  about  some  of  the  stage  property.  Now 
he  turns  back  in  time  to  hear  the  next 
speech.] 

NICK.  And  thou  wilt  let  me  go  the  morrow 
after  next? 

CAREW.     Aye,  verily. 

HEYWOOD.     Carew,  how  can  ye  have  the  heart? 

CAREW.  [Curtly.]  Come,  Hey  wood,  I  have 
heard  enough  from  thee. 

HEYWOOD.  [Quietly,  lifting  his  brows.]  Very 
well;  but  [turning  to  NICK],  lad,  Tom  Heywood  's 
a  friend  will  never  speak  thee  false. 

CAREW.  [Clapping  his  hand  upon  his  pon 
iard.]  Sir! 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  68 

HEYWOOD.  [Looking  at  him  steadily.]  Wilt 
quarrel  with  me,  Carew  —  with  me  who  took  thy 
new-born  child  from  her  dying  mother's  arms  when 
thou  wert  fast  in  Newgate  jail? 

CAREW.  [As  if  suddenly  stricken,  shutting  his 
eyes,  and  pushing  out  his  hand  in  the  air  as  tf  to 
stop  HEYWOOD,  groaning.]  Ah! 

HEYWOOD.  [With  deep  feeling.]  Thou  canst 
not  quarrel  with  me.  'T  would  be  a  sorry  story 
for  my  soul  or  thine  to  tell  to  hers. 

CAREW.     Don't,  Tom,  don't. 

HEYWOOD.     Then  how  can  ye  have  the  heart? 

CAREW.  [Lifting  up  his  head,  tenth  lips  trem 
bling.]  'T  is  not  the  heart,  Tom  [bitterly]  ;  it 
is  the  head  which  doeth  this.  But,  Tom,  thou 
hast  just  heard  him  sing:  'tis  worth  a  thousand 
pounds.  How  can  I  leave  him  go? 

HEYWOOD.  Oh,  fie,  for  shame  upon  the  man  I 
took  thee  for! 

NICK.  [Wretchedly.]  But,  sir,  ye  have  just 
promised  I  should  go. 

CAREW.  [Pleadingly.]  Why,  Nick,  I  told 
thee  if  thou  wouldst  sing  one  little  song,  I  'd  send 
thee  back  the  next  bright  morning  after.  But, 


64  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  II 

lad,  thou  sure  canst  see  if  thou  shouldst  leave  us 
now  so  soon,  there  'd  never  again  come  a  single 
bright  good  morrow. 

NICK.  [Despairingly.]  Oh,  Master  Carew, 
ye  said  but  now  that  ye  would  leave  me  go,  and 
then  ye  say  ye  will  na.  There  is  a  falsehood  — 
a  wicked  black  falsehood  —  somewhere  betwixt  you 
and  me,  sir;  and  ye  know  I  have  na  lied  to  you. 
[Sobs.] 

HEYWOOD.  Carew,  thou  surely  canst  not  mean 
to  keep  him  for  good  and  all?  Wouldst  spoil 
his  sweet  young  soul  among  wild  blades  like  us? 

CAREW.  But,  look  it  straightly  in  the  face, 
Tom :  I  'm  no  such  player  as  I  was  —  and  here 
is  ruin  staring  us  in  the  eye.  We  storm  town  after 
town  for  scant  twelve  shillings  clear.  There 's 
naught  will  serve :  we  've  tried  old  Marlowe,  Robin 
Greene,  and  all ;  but  now  from  pit  to  stall  the  peo 
ple  clamor  out  for  Shakespeare.  I  tell  thee,  Tom, 
there  's  magic  in  the  fellow.  Why,  we  must  often 
play  to  empty  stools,  while  their  new  Blackfriars' 
playhouse  doth  take  ten  pounds  the  night.  And, 
Tom,  there  's  Cicely, —  not  one  penny  laid  by 
for  her  against  a  rainy  day ;  and  some  time  I  '11 
be  gone,  Tom;  it  is  not  morning  all  day  long. — 
Nay,  I  cannot  leave  him  go. 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  65 

NICK.  [Wretchedly,  holding  fast  to  HEY- 
WOOD'S  arm.]  But,  sir,  my  mother  —  my  moth 
er's  heart  will  surely  break  if  I  do  na  come  home. 

HEYWOOD.  Why,  Gaston,  hath  the  boy  a 
mother,  too? 

CAREW.  Now,  Heywood,  on  thy  soul,  no  more ! 
Ye  '11  make  me  out  a  fiend.  I  cannot  let  him  go 
—  I  will  not.  And,  Tom,  there  's  that  within  me 
will  not  abide  even  thy  pestering.  [He  strides 
over  to  the  stage-door,  gnawing  his  mustache. 
After  a  moment,  a  player  comes  through  the  door, 
letting  in  the  sound  of  laughter  and  cheers.  NICK 
is  sobbing,  his  head  upon  the  table.  CAREW  soon 
goes  out  himself  upon  the  play-stage.] 

HEYWOOD.  [Bending  over  NICK,  gently. ] 
Nay,  Nick,  my  lad,  don't  cry.  Never  '*  a  weary 
while ;  but  the  longest  lane  will  turn  at  last :  some 
day  thou  'It  find  thy  home  again  all  in  a  twinkling. 
[Taking  a  knife  in  his  hand.]  Come,  lad,  taste 
this  mutton  pie.  'T  is  excellently  spiced,  I  war 
rant  thee.  [NiCK  shakes  his  head.]  The  good 
God  made  the  sheep  that 's  in  this  pie,  not 
Gaston  Carew.  Eat  it  —  come,  't  will  do  thee 
good.  Thy  tired  and  empty  stomach  hath 
need  of  the  savory  cheer  that 's  locked  herein. 
[NICK  begins  to  eat,  more  heartily  after  the  first 


66  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  II 

taste.]  There!  Why,  Nick,  'tis  England  still, 
and  thou  an  Englishman.  Come,  give  the  world 
as  good  as  it  can  send.  [NicK  raises  his  head, 
and,  throwing  the  hair  back  from  his  eyes,  winks 
the  tears  from  them  bravely.]  Sing  thou  my 
songs,  dear  lad,  and  I  will  be  thy  friend  —  let  this 
be  for  an  earnest.  [He  slips  a  small  seal-ring 
from  his  little  finger  upon  NICK'S  middle  finger, 
then  rises  and,  going  to  the  stage-door,  presently, 
exit.  NICK  sniffs  once  or  twice,  but  after  looking 
at  the  ring,  goes  on  eating.  Reenter  CAREW.] 

CAREW.  [Half  jestingly.]  Come,  cheer  up, 
lad,  that  I  may  know  thou  lov'st  me. 

NICK.      [Indignantly.]     But  I  do  na  love  thee. 

CAREW.  Tut,  tut,  lad.  Be  fair.  I'll  feed 
thee  full  and  dress  thee  well  and  treat  thee  true 
—  all  for  that  song  of  thine.  Thou  'It  be  the  pet 
of  every  high-born  dame  in  London. 

NICK.  I  'd  rather  be  with  mother,  and  hear 
the  birds  along  the  Avon  sing. 

CAREW.  Best  learn  to  like  us,  but  —  I  must 
away  to  do  my  turn  again.  Gregory  Goole  will 
keep  thee  company,  lad,  till  we  have  put  a  finish  to 
the  play.  [Moves  toward  the  door,  and  says  to 
GOOLE:]  Do  not  let  the  boy  from  thy  sight. 


ACT  II          MASTER  SKYLARK  67 

Watch  him  as  thou  wouldst  thy  precious  life,  or 
—  tsst !  [Makes  a  threatening  gesture,  and  exit, 
with  two  or  three  other  players,  leaving  NICK  and 
GOOLE  alone.] 

GOOLE.  \_Sitting  at  a  table  facing  NICK,  and 
playing  with  dice.]  Threes.  Pah! —  Four  and 
two. —  'S  life !  Curse  the  dice !  —  Fives !  [He 
gradually  becomes  engrossed  in  the  game.  The 
clang  of  tlie  smithy's  anvil  is  heard  again.]  A 
plague  on  the  bedlam  dice!  I  think  they  be  be 
witched. —  Can  I  throw  nothing  but  threes  and 
fours?  [Nick  edges  towards  the  door.]  A  murrain 
on  the  luck ! — Ah,  't  is  dry  work. — What ! 
[Springing  up  suddenly.]  Thou  little  imp! 
[Drawing  his  knife.]  Don't  try  this  on  again! 
[Catches  Nick  by  the  throat.]  Where  wast  going? 

NICK.  I  was  to  find  my  cousin's  house. 
[Gasping]  Oh,  Master  Goole,  thou'rt  choking  me! 

GOOLE.  [Savagely.]  If  thou  triest  this  sort  o* 
caper  on  again,  thy  life  's  not  worth  a  rotten  peas- 
cod.  [NICK  is  speechless  with  terror,  and  cowers 
down  upon  a  stool.  GOOLE  swaggers  to  a  table  and 


68  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  II 

lays  his  dagger  down  upon  it.  Then,  picking  up 
an  ale-can,  he  takes  a  little  drink.  Smacking  his 
lips,  he  looks  at  NICK,  makes  a  horrible  face  as  if 
to  threaten  him,  then  turns  the  ale-can  up  and 
drinks  again,  long  and  deeply,  with  his  face  half 
buried  in  the  pot.  NICK  slips  out  of  the  door  into 
the  street.~\  What,  ho!  the  devil!  [To  LAND 
LORD,  who  enters.]  Didst  see  him,  there? 

LANDLORD.     Nay,  sir ;  see  who  ? 

GOOLE.  God's  footstool !  I  '11  catch  it  now ! 
[Runs  to  the  door  and  exit,  shouting:]  Stop 
him  there !  A  shilling  to  the  man  '11  catch  the 
rogue.  Hath  snatched  a  fortune  from  my  hands. 

VOICES.  [Outside,  mingled  with  noise  and 
shouts.]  Catch  the  knave! —  Head  him  off 
there!—  Stop,  thief! 

[A  brawny  blacksmith  appears  through  the 
doorway,  with  a  red-hot  horseshoe  held  in  his 
forge-pincers.] 

SMITH.  [Calling  to  LANDLORD.]  What  hath 
the  varlet  stolen,  Ned? 

LANDLORD.  I  know  not ;  not  I.  He  's  with  the 
players. 

SMITH.  Little  good  he  '11  come  to,  then. — 
Ah,  they  have  him.  Adrad,  no !  He  's  off  again. 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  69 

[Increasing  noise,  tumult,  and  sound  of  men  run 
ning,]  Whoy,  'tis  well  run.  See  him  dodge! 
Eigh !  he  's  slipped  'em  down  an  alley.  [NiCK  ap 
pears  in  the  street,  running,  followed  by  a  crowd 
of  citizens,  GOOLE  entering  last.  NICK  runs  to 
the  SMITH,  who  has  just  entered  the  tavern  room, 
and  dodges  behind  him,  clinging  to  his  leather 
apron.]  —  Hoo,  man,  what  a  dickens!  [Snort 
ing  in  surprise,  and  dropping  the  hissing  shoe.] 

NICK.  [Panting.]  Do  na  leave  them  take 
me !  —  They  ha'  stolen  me  —  from  Stratford 
town  —  and  will  na  leave  me  go ! 

A  CITIZEN.  [Rushing  up  to  NICK,  and  trying 
to  take  him  by  the  collar.]  Thou  young  rascal, 
I  have  thee  now! 

SMITH.  So-oftly,  so-oftly.  [He  tweaks  up 
the  glowing  shoe  in  his  pincers  and  sweeps  a  sput 
tering  half -circle  in  front  of  the  cowering  NICK.] 
What  hath  youngster  here  did  now? 

CITIZEN.  He  hath  stolen  a  fortune  from  his 
master  —  and  the  shilling  for  him  's  mine. 

SMITH.  Hath  stealed  a  fortune?  Whoy 
[scratching  his  head  in  a  puzzled  way  and  turning 
upon  NICK,  who  is  still  dodging  around  him],  lad, 
where  hast  putten  it? 


70  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  II 

NICK.  I  ha'  stolen  naught.  They  ha'  stolen 
me. 

CAREW.  [Bursting  in  through  the  stage-door, 
with  the  rest  of  the  players  and  some  of  the  crowd 
behind  him.]  How,  now!  What  meaneth  this 
disturbance  of  the  play?  [Seeing  GOOLE.] 
What 's  this  to-do,  I  say  ? 

GOOLE.     Thy  boy  hath  tried  to  'scape. 

CAREW.  Hast  not  caught  him?  [Seeing 
NICK.]  Fetch  him  forth. 

GOOUB.  [Stammering,  as  the  SMITH  stolidly 
mows  the  air  in  front  of  himself  and  NICK  again 
with  the  sputtering  shoe.]  But  he  will  na  be 
fetched.  [Crowd  shouts.] 

CAREW.  [Fiercely,  elbowing  his  way  towards 
NICK.]  Nicholas  Attwood,  come  hither. 

NICK.  [To  SMITH.]  He  is  not  my  master:  I 
be  not  bound  out  apprentice  —  he  is  stealing  me 
away  from  my  own  home,  and  it  will  break  my 
mother's  heart. 

SMITH.  [Drawling,  in  his  deep  voice.]  No 
body  breaks  nobody's  hearts  when  old  John 
Smith  's  around ;  we  be  honest-dealing  folk  in  Cov 
entry  —  an'  makes  as  good  horseshoes  as  be  forged 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  71 

in  all  England.     [He  placidly  goes  on  mowing  the 
air  with  the  glimmering  shoe.] 

CAREW.  [Haughtily,  with  hand  on  poniard.] 
Here,  fellow,  stand  aside  and  let  me  pass.  [Crowd 
falls  back.] 

SMITH.  [Puffing  out  his  sooty  cheeks.] 
Droive  slow  through  the  crowd,  muster.  I  be  a 
free-born  Englishman,  and  I  '11  stand  aside  for  no 
ruffling  it  here.  Come,  now,  speak  thee  fair  what 
thou  wilt  o'  the  lad,  or  thou  'It  get  a  dab  o'  the 
red-hot  shoe.  [Gripping  the  tongs  with  an  extra 
twirl]  What  wilt  thou  o'  the  lad? 

CAREW.  [Changing  his  tone  to  a  burlesque  of 
the  SMITH'S.]  What  will  I  o'  the  lad?  [Winks  at 
the  crowd.]  What  will  I  o'  the  lad? 

CROWD.     [Laughing.]     Ha!  ha!  ha! 

CAREW.  Why,  bless  thy  gentle  heart,  good 
man,  I  want  to  turn  his  farthings  into  round,  red, 
golden  crowns  —  if  thou  and  thine  infernally  hot 
shoe  do  not  make  zanies  of  us  all.  Why,  Master 
Smith,  't  is  to  London  town  I  '11  take  him,  to  fill 
his  hands  with  more  shillings  than  there  be  horse 
shoe  nails  in  thy  whole  shop.  But  now  the  child 
hath  only  gone  a  trifle  sick  for  home,  and  whimpers 
for  his  minnie. 


72  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  II 

SMITH.  But  the  lad  saith  thou  hast  stealed 
him  away  from  's  ho-ome ;  and  we  '11  ha'  no  steal 
ing  o'  lads  in  Coventry  town. 

CROWD.  Nay,  that  we  won't,  John  Smith.  Fair 
play,  fair  play !  [Threatening  gestures  and  mur 
muring s.] 

CAREW.  [Turning  so  sharply  on  them,  with 
hand  on  poniard,  that  the  crowd  falls  back.] 
What!  fair  play?  Why,  sirs,  what  if  I  took  any 
one  of  ye  out  of  your  poverty  and  common  clothes 
down  into  London,  horseback  like  a  king,  and  had 
ye  sing  before  the  Queen,  and  play  for  earls,  and 
talk  with  the  highest  dames  in  all  the  land;  and 
fed  ye  well,  and  spoke  ye  fair,  and  lodged  ye  soft, 
and  clad  ye  fine,  and  wrought  the  whole  town  on 
to  cheer  ye  and  to  fill  your  purses  full  of  gold? 
[Turning  to  SMITH.]  What,  sir,  what  if  I  prom 
ised  thee  to  turn  thy  every  word  to  a  silver  six 
pence  and  thy  smutty  grins  to  golden  angels  — 
what  wouldst  thou  ?  —  Knock  me  in  the  head  with 
thy  dirty  tongs,  and  bawl  "  foul  play  "  ? 

SMITH.  [Stupidly,  scratching  his  head.] 
Nay,  that  I'd  not.—  I'd  say,  "Go  it,  bully, 
and  a  plague  on  him  that  says  thee  nay !  " 

CAREW.  And  yet,  when  I  would  fill  this  silly 
fellow's  jerkin  full  of  good  gold  Harry  shovel- 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  73 

boards  for  the  simple  drawing  of  his  breath,  ye 
bawl  "Foul  play!" 

SMITH.  [Laughing  hoarsely,  and  striking 
NICK  jovially  between  the  shoulders.]  What, 
here!  come  out,  lad,  and  go  along  o'  the  muster 
here  — 't  is  for  thy  good, —  and  ho-ome  wull  keep, 
I  trow. 

NICK.  [Hanging  back,  and  clinging  to  the 
SMITH'S  arm  despairingly.]  I  will  na  —  oh,  I 
will  na. 

CAREW.  Tut,  tut!  Nicholas.  Come;  I  mean 
thee  well,  I  '11  speak  thee  fair,  and  treat  thee  true. 
[Smiling  frankly  and  wi/nningly.]  I  '11  swear  it 
on  mine  honor  as  an  Englishman.  What,  how, 
bullies?  Upon  mine  honor  as  an  Englishman! 

—  how  is  *it?     Here  we  be,  all  Englishmen  to 
gether.      [Clapping  his  hand  to  the  -first  CITIZEN'S 
shoulder,  wjio  thereupon  straightens  up  proudly.] 
What !  —  ye  are  all  for  fair  play  ?  —  and  so  am 
I,  and  good  master  Smith  here,  too !     Why,  sirs, 
we  stand  all  together  then,  and  what  more  can  a 
man  ask  than  good,  downright  English  fair  play? 
[Waving  his  hand]     Hurrah  for  good  old  Eng 
lish  fair  play! 

CROWD.     Hurrah,  hurrah!     Fair  play,  says  we 

—  English    fair    play !     Hurrah !     [  Waving    of 
hands  and  tossing  up  of  caps.] 


74  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  II 

CAREW.  Hurrah,  my  bullies  !  That 's  the  cry. 
Why,  we  're  the  very  best  of  friends !  Come  now, 
all  of  you,  and  douse  a  can  of  brown  March  brew 
at  my  expense.  Landlord,  serve  every  one  of  my 
dear  fellows  here  with  good  brown  British  ale. 
[LANDLORD  bustles  about,  filling  mugs  for  the 
crowd.]  —  We  '11  drink  to  the  Queen,  to  good 
fair  play,  and  to  all  the  fine  fellows  in  Coventry 
town. 

CROWD.  [Roaring,  crowding  about  the  tables 
and  SMITH,  raising  mugs,  etc.]  Hurrah,  hurrah! 
Fair  play !  fair  play ! 

GOOLE.  [Seizing  NICK  by  the  hand  and  lead 
ing  him  away,  unnoticed  by  the  crowd.]  Thou 
little,  foul-chanced  imp! 

CAREW.  [Joining  them,  grimly.]  Now,  Nich 
olas  Attwood,  hark  'e  well  to  what  I  have  to  say. 
I  am  willed  to  take  thee  to  London  town  —  dost 
mark  me?  —  and,  by  the  whistle  of  the  Lord  High 
Admiral,  to  London  town  thou  shalt  go,  warm  or 
cold.  [Claps  hand  on  poniard,  and  stares  at 
NICK  sternly,  opening  and  shutting  his  eyelids. 
NICK  is  speechless  with  terror.] 

CROWD.  [Laughing,  drinking,  and  shouting  to 
gether.]  Ha !  ha !  ha !  —  Whooee !  —  Hurray ! 


ACT  II  MASTER  SKYLARK  75 

CAREW.  [Still  unnoticed,  exit  with  NICK,  -fol 
lowed  by  GOOLE.  At  the  door,  he  pauses  to  look 
back  contemptuously,  and  snaps  his  fingers  at  the 
crowd  in  scorn.]  Bubble-minded  fools ! 


[CURTAIN] 


[End  of  ACT  II] 


ACT  III 

[Room  in  GASTON  CAREW'S  house,  London.  Four 
days  later.  Late  afternoon. 

Large  open  fireplace,  with  heavy  wooden  carved 
work.  Wainscoted,  paneled  walls,  with  two 
portieres,  concealing  doorways,  at  the  back.  A 
heavy  oak  door  opens  to  the  left,  and  a  passage 
way  to  the  right;  and  high  windows  give  a 
glimpse  of  chimney-pots  and  roofs  beyond. 

An  old,  black,  brass-bound  Spanish  sea-chest  by 
one  wall.  An  ancient  table,  two  heavy  chairs, 
an  arm-cJiair,  and  a  stool  are  near  the  fireplace. 
A  burnished  copper  brazier  burns  at  the  rear, 
near  which  is  a  low  couch,  half-hidden  by  a  mov 
able  screen. 

Enter  CAREW  with  NICK.] 

CAREW.  Now,  Sir  Jackanapes,  sit  down  awhile 
and  cool  thy  silly  pate.  When  thou  hast  found 
thy  common  sense,  perchance  thou  'It  find  thy 
freedom,  not  before.  \Exlt,  bolting  the  door  with 

a  bang.] 

76 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  77 

NICK.  [Running  to  the  door.~\  Oh,  Master 
Carew,  let  me  out  —  please  let  me  go  home ! 
[Sound  of  retreating  footsteps.  NICK  pounds  on 
the  door.]  Let  me  out!  Let  me  out,  I  say! 

[He  runs  to  the  windows  and  peers  out,  finally 
standing  with  fists  clenched,  but  looking 
about  uncertainly.  Enter,  cautiously,  a 
BUTLER,  with  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk,  just 
as  NICK  carries  the  stool  to  a  window,  climbs 
up,  and  tries  to  undo  the  fastening.] 

BUTLER.  [Hurriedly  setting  down  the  bowl  of 
milk  and  the  quarter  loaf  of  bread,  and  waddling 
to  the  window. ]  Here,  here,  odzookens,  lad! 
Ztop  un,  ztop  un ;  do  now.  If  thou  couldst  pry  it 
loose,  and  out,  the  drop  would  break  thy  neck. 
Come  sit  ye  here,  and  eat  a  bit. 

NICK.  [Coming  down.]  I  will  na  eat  a  bite 
here  in  this  house.  I  'd  sooner  starve. 

BUTLER.  Now,  now!  Talk  not  so  bitterly. 
My  muster  meaneth  well  by  'e. —  Rest  thee  a  bit 
yon. 

NICK.  I  '11  neither  eat  nor  sleep  till  I  get  word 
to  Master  Shakespeare  to  come  and  set  me  free. 

BUTLER.  Whoy,  dost  know  Muster  Wull 
Zhacksper? 


18  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

NICK.     He  's  my  mother's  cousin. 

BUTLER.  Zo-o  I  Muster  Zhacksper  be-eth  a 
famous  man.  Liveth  in  a  fine  large  house  on  this 
zame  street,  but  vurther  down. 

NICK.  Oh,  is  it  true?  Oh,  wilt  thou  tell  him 
where  I  be,  and  how  I  am  not  free  ?  —  Here,  I 
have  a  gold  rose-noble  that  Master  Heywood  gave 
me. 

BUTLEB.  Noa,  I  canna.  Muster  Wull  beant 
there. 

NICK.     Where  is  he  then  ? 
BUTLER.     Gone  awa-ay. 
NICK.     Away !     Whither  ? 

BUTLER.  A 's  gone  to  court  at  Greenwich 
where  the  Queen  doth  stay  —  a  went  yesterday. 

NICK.  Yesterday !  Just  yesterday !  [Sits 
down,  despairingly;  but  as  BUTLER  looks  at  him 
curiously,  braces  up  a  little.]  Is  —  is  Master 
Richard  Burbage  of  Stratford  town  at  the  Black- 
friars'  Theater  now? 

BUTLER.  Noa;  Muster  Bubbage  beant  there, 
nuther.  A  wun't  play-act  no  more  avore  next 
Martlemas. 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  79 

A  VOICE.  [Calling  harshly,  outside.]  Jem! 
Jem  Barstow! 

BUTLER.     [Replying.]     Aye,  aye,  Gregory. 

GOOLE.  [Still  outside;  more  sharply.]  Leave 
the  varlet  and  come  down.  There  's  work  to  do. 

BUTLER.     Coming.     [Exit  hurriedly.] 

[NICK,  after  a  moment  of  uncertainty,  in  which 
he  tries  hard  to  keep  from  breaking  down, 
throws  himself  upon  the  couch  in  utter  de 
spair.  Through  the  windows,  out  over  the 
roofs  of  the  nearer  London,  lights  appear 
one  by  one  in  the  houses. 

A  soft  knock  is  heard  at  the  door.  NICK  does 
not  hear  it.  The  bolt  is  drawn  softly,  and 
CICELY  CAREW,  with  a  lighted  candle,  stands 
in  the  doorway.  She  is  a  pretty  girl,  about 
NICK'S  own  age,  some  twelve  years.] 

CICELY.  [Softly.]  Boy!  [NiCK  turns  and 
stares  as  if  she  were  a  prmcess  in  a  dream.  Slowly 
he  gets  up  and  stands  amazedly.  Then  CICELY, 
with  a  quaint  little  air  of  reproof,  but  gently:] 
Where  are  thy  manners?  [NiCK  quickly  bows, 
stares  wonderingly,  and  bows  again,  more  slowly. 
CICELY,  with  na'ive  surprise.]  Why,  thou  art  a 
pretty  boy.  But  why  wilt  be  so  bad  and  break 
my  father's  heart? 


80  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

NICK.  Break  thy  father's  heart?  [Stammer 
ing.]  Why,  why,  pr'ythee,  who  is  thy  father, 
Mistress  Princess? 

CICELY.  [Simply.]  Nay,  I  am  no  princess. 
I  am  Cicely  Carew. 

NICK.  [Clenching  his  fists.]  Cicely  Carew? 
Art  thou  the  daughter  of  that  wicked  man? 

CICELY.  My  father  is  not  wicked.  [Passion 
ately,  drawing  back  to  the  threshold,  with  her  hand 
trembling  on  the  latch.]  I  will  not  speak  with 
thee  at  all. 

NICK.  I  do  na  care !  If  Master  Gaston  Carew 
is  thy  father,  he  is  the  wickedest  man  in  the  world. 

CICELY.  Fie,  for  shame!  [Stamping  her 
foot.]  How  darest  thou  say  such  a  thing? 

NICK.  [Indignantly.]  He  hath  stolen  me 
from  home. 

CICELY.  [Looking  at  him  in  troubled  surprise, 
she  comes  into  the  room,  sets  down  her  candle,  and 
touches  him  on  the  arm.]  There,  don't  cry. — 
Thou  must  be  ill.  My  father  would  not  steal  a 
pin.  [Soothingly,  stroking  his  forehead  gently.] 
He  will  send  thee  to  thy  home  and  to  thy  mother, 
I  know ;  for  he  is  very  kind  and  good. —  Don't 
cry  any  more. 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  81 

NICK.      [Stoutly.]     I  'm  not  crying. 

CICELY.  Then  it  is  the  roof  leaks.  [Pretend 
ing  not  to  see  his  tear-blinded  eyes,  she  looks  up, 
and  then  around  the  room,  seeing  the  bread  and 
the  bowl  finally.]  Come,  thou  art  hungry,  and  it 
hath  made  thee  cross.  [She  leads  him  by  the 
hand  to  a  chair  by  the  table,  and  lights  another 
candle.] 

NICK.  [Peering  up  at  the  windows.]  Is  Lon 
don  town  all  smoke-pipes? 

CICELY.  Nay,  there  be  people  down  under  the 
chimney-pots.  And  in  the  streets,  hundreds  and 
hundreds  more.  It  is  the  biggest  city  in  the 
world. 

NICK.  I  canna  breathe  here.  It  is  na  like 
our  Stratford. 

CICELY.     And  is  thy  Stratford  a  pretty  town? 

NICK.  Aye.  [He  looks  into  the  fire  dream 
ily.]  The  air  is  ever  sweet,  and  the  wind  makes 
all  the  Avon  river  ripple  in  the  sun,  like  —  like 
twinkling  stars,  so  that  it  dazzles  one  to  look. 
And,  oh,  there  be  red  and  white  wild  roses  in  the 
hedges,  and  in  the  air  a  smell  of  clover  and  of  new- 
mown  hay.  The  mowers  will  be  working  in  the 
clover  even  now,  in  the  bright  moonlight.  Canst 
not  almost  see  the  sweep  of  the  shining  scythes 


82  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

and  hear  the  chink-a-chank,  chink-a-chank  of  the 
whetstone  on  the  long,  curving  blades?  Chink-a- 
chank,  chink-a-chank,  it  goes,  until  I  fall  asleep. 
And  then  I  wake  to  hear  a  throstle  piping  to  the 
daisies  on  the  hill,  or  a  lark  song  far  up  in  the 
blue  air.  And  then  I  hear  the  voice  of  some  one 
calling  me  —  my  mother  — 

CICELY.  [Leaning  forward.]  Oh,  boy;  dear 
boy !  —  Thou  shalt  have  some  of  the  new  pasty 
to  eat  and  a  cake  that 's  in  the  buttery.  [She 
pulls  a  tall,  curiously  made  stool  to  the  other  side 
of  the  table,  and  perches  herself  upon  it,  calling 
imperiously.]  Greg!  Greg!  What,  how!  Greg 
ory  Goole,  I  say ! 

GOOLE.  [Without,  hoarsely,  from  the  door.] 
Yes,  ma'm'selle.  [Enters,  sees  NICK  near  the 
half-open  door.  Sourly.]  Tut,  tut!  thy  father 
will  not  like  this.  [Closes  the  door.] 

CICELY.  [Scornfully.]  Dost  think  I  do  not 
know  my  father's  likes  and  dislikes  better  than 
thou?  Wouldst  starve  him  here?  [Severely.] 
Go  tell  Jem  to  fetch  the  pasty  and  the  little  cake 
from  the  buttery,  with  a  glass  of  cordial,  or 
I  will  tell  my  father  what  thou  wottest  of. 

GOOLE.  [Fawning,  but  with  poor  grace.] 
Very  good,  ma'm'selle.  [Scowling  blackly  at 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  83 

NICK,  and  snarling  as  he  turns  away.]  But, 
knave,  if  thou  dost  venture  any  scurvy  pranks 
while  I  be  gone,  I  '11  break  thy  pate. 


CICELY.  'T  is  a  saucy  rogue,  but  he  doth  but 
ter  his  tongue  with  smooth  words  when  he  hath 
speech  with  me:  I  caught  him  once  at  the  Spanish 
wine  behind  my  father's  back.  —  I  am  the  lady 
of  the  house,  for  my  mother  is  dead  ;  and  oh,  boy, 
when  one's  mother  is  gone,  there  is  a  hurting- 
place  that  naught  doth  ever  heal.  —  She  was  a 
Frenchwoman,  the  loveliest  that  ever  lived,  al 
though  I  never  saw  her.  [She  clasps  her  hands, 
and  moves  her  lips.  NICK,  seeing  that  she  is  pray 
ing,  bends  his  head  also.]  Thou  art  a  good  boy 
[softly]  ;  my  father  will  like  that.  [Going  on 
quietly.]  But  I  am  a  right  English  girl,  for  all 
that  Gregory  doth  call  me  "  ma'm'selle  "  ;  and 
when  they  shout  "  God  save  the  Queen  !  "  at  the 
play,  why,  I  do,  too.  [Clapping  her  hands,  with 
sparkling  eyes.]  Hast  ever  seen  the  Queen? 

NICK.     Nay  ;  hast  thou  ? 

CICELY.  Nay,  but  my  father  hath  often  prom 
ised  me  that  I  should  go  to  court  when  I  am  a 
little  older.  —  And,  oh,  he  hath  bought  thee  a 
fine  new  suit,  for  he  saith  perhaps  thou  'It  go  to 
see  the  Queen  thyself. 


84  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

GOOLE.  [Appearing  at  the  door.]  Ma'm'- 
selle,  thy  father  cometh ;  't  were  best  to  wait  be 
fore  I  serve  the  pasty.  [Exit.] 

CICELY.     Canst  wait  a  moment  longer,  boy? 

NICK.  Aye,  truly. —  But  dost  think  thy 
father  will  truly  leave  me  go? 

CICELY.  Of  course  he  will.  I  cannot  see  why 
thou  dost  hate  him  so. 

NICK.  Why,  truly  [hesitatingly],  if  he  would 
but  leave  me  go,  I  'd  not :  perhaps  I  'd  love  him 
very  much  indeed. 

CAREW.  [Entering,  and  holding  out  his  hands 
genially.]  Good,  Nick!  'tis  spoken  like  a  gen 
tleman.  Nay,  I  will  kiss  thee  —  for  I  love  thee, 
Nick,  upon  my  word,  and  on  the  remnant  of  mine 
honor!  [Taking  NICK'S  half -unwilling  hands  in 
his  own,  he  stoops  and  kisses  him  upon  tfie  fore 
head.] 

CICELY.  [Gravely.]  Father,  hast  thou  for 
gotten  me? 

CAREW.  [With  a  wonderfully  affectionate 
laugh,  turning  quickly  and  kissing  her  most  ten 
derly,  while  she  twines  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
and  lies  back  with  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.] 
Nay,  sweetheart,  nay. 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  85 

CICELY.  [Patting  his  cheek.]  Daddy,  some 
one  hath  told  him  naughty  things  of  thee.  Come, 
say  they  are  not  so. 

CAEEW.  [Uneasily,  coughing,  and  looking  up 
among  the  roof-beams.]  Why,  of  course  they  're 
not. 

CICELY.  There,  boy!  I  told  thee. —  Why, 
they  said  thou  'dst  stolen  him  away  from  home ! 
[Enter  BUTLER.] 

CAREW.  Ho,  Jem, —  we  '11  have  the  supper  here 
together  now.  Bring  in  the  pasty  and  some  cakes 
and  honey,  and  a  cordial,  also.  [Exit  BUTLER.] 
Thou  'It  have  a  draught  of  cordial,  Nick,  to 
pledge  me  in,  I  know  [lights  more  candles  as  he 
speaks],  for  thou  art  on  the  threshold  of  a  golden- 
lined  success.  [Enter  BUTLER  with  food.] — 
Hullo,  what  a  hole  thou  hast  made  in  the  pasty! 

CICELY.  [Soberly.]  Aye,  Daddy,  and  what  a 
hole  it  would  make  in  his  mother's  heart  if  he  had 
been  stolen  away! 

CAREW.  [Hurriedly,  reaching  for  the  tall 
flagon,  with  a  trembling  hand.]  Wilt  take  a  lit 
tle,  lad  ?  See,  Nick,  how  the  light  shines  through  ? 
[Tilting  up  the  flagon.] 

CICELY.     Thou  'It  send  him  home  again,  Daddy  ? 


86  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

CAREW.  [His  hand  spilling  some  wine  as  he 
pours  it  out,  nervously,  and  setting  the  glass 
flagon  down  hard  upon  the  table, ]  Yes,  yes,  to 
be  sure  —  we  '11  send  him  anywhere  thou  dost  say, 
Goldenheart. 

NICK.  [Falteringly.]  And  will  ye  truly  leave 
me  go,  sir? 

CAREW.  Why,  yes,  yes.  But,  Nick,  thou 
couldst  not  walk  it,  lad,  in  six  whole  days;  there 
will  be  carriers  anon.  Come,  stay  awhile  with 
Cicely  and  me  —  we  will  make  thee  a  right  wel 
come  guest. 

CICELY.  [Clapping  her  hands.]  Oh,  do  stay; 
I  am  so  lonely  here,  and  the  rats  run  in  the  wall. 

CAREW.  And  thou  wilt  sing  for  London  town 
before  thou  goest.  The  Queen  should  hear  thee 
sing. 

CICELY.  [Leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  chair, 
devouring  NICK  with  her  great,  dark  eyes.] 
Dost  truly,  truly  sing? 

CAREW.  [As  NICK  laughs  and  appears  embar 
rassed.]  What?  Why,  Goldenheart,  he  singeth 
like  a  skylark. 

CICELY.  Thou  'It  sing  for  me  —  when  thou 
hast  finished?  —  my  mother  used  to  sing. 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  87 

[CAREW  turns  pale,  and  puts  his  hand  quickly 
up  to  his  face.  CICELY  darts  to  his  side  with 
a  frightened  cry,  and  catches  his  hand  away.] 

CAREW.  [Trying  to  smile.]  Tush,  tush,  little 
one;  't  was  something  stung  me.  [Huskily,  and 
with  great  weariness  and  sadness.]  Stay,  Nich 
olas,  I  beg  of  thee.  And  sing  for  us  here  —  even 
for  me  whom  thou  hatest!  We  need  thee  sadly, 
Cicely  and  I.  We  be  both  too  much  alone. 
[After  a  pause,  softly.]  Nick,  I  wonder  if  thou 
couldst  play  as  well  as  sing? 

NICK.     What,  sir,  do  ye  mean?     A  game? 
CAREW.     Nay,  lad ;  a  gittern. 

NICK.  [In  some  surprise.]  Why,  sir,  I  do  na 
know  the  knack.  I  ha'  heard  one  played  but  once ; 
yet  't  was  passing  sweet. 

CAREW.  Aye,  lad,  't  is  passing  sweet. —  I 
heard  one  first  in  France,  a  many  years  ago.  Ai, 
but  that  is  a  land  of  dreams,  my  lad  and  lass,  a 
land  of  dreams,  I  say.  'T  is  there  the  lilies  grow 
even  in  the  ditches,  and  the  tall  trees  stand 
by  the  roadsides,  and  the  wine  has  sunshine 
'prisoned  in  it  that  sets  the  pulses  dancing  to  a 
music  such  as  we  can  never  even  dream  of  here. 
And  the  women  are  all  radiant  as  queens,  with  hair 


88  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

like  night,  and  eyes  like  the  summer  stars. — 
Thou  wilt  be  like  them,  sweetheart;  thou  wilt  be 
like  the  fairest  of  them  all.  [He  stops  suddenly 
and  stares  out  of  the  window  into  the  night.] 

CICELY.     Is  thy  mother  like  that,  Nick? 

NICK.  Nay ;  I  would  na  call  her  so ;  her  hair  is 
partly  gray,  but  her  eyes  do  often  shine. 

CICELY.  And  is  thy  mother  a  good  woman, 
Nick? 

CAREW.  Aye,  Sweetheart  [putting  out  a  hand 
to  each]  ;  none  but  a  good  mother  could  have  so 
good  a  son. 

CICELY.  Then  thou  wilt  send  him  home, 
Daddy? 

CAREW.  Aye,  my  lass.  All  in  good  time.  In 
good  time,  I  promise  thee. —  But,  nay,  Golden- 
heart,  no  more  questions  now. —  Come,  why 
should  we  be  sad?  I  tell  thee,  Nick,  thou  shalt  be 
a  fairy  prince  for  us  and  make  us  all  forget  the 
past.  Thou  'It  look  the  part,  forsooth,  when  thou 
art  dressed  in  thy  new  skylark  feathers  —  will  he 
not,  Cicely  Goldenheart?  What,  ho,  Gregory! 
fetch  the  bundle. —  Gregory  !  what,  ho !  [Enter 
GOOLE.]  The  new  suit,  sirrah.  [Exit  GOOLE.] 
Nick,  thou  art  to  be  one  of  Paul's  boys. 


Cicely  darted  to  his  side  with  a  frightened  cry. 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  89 

NICK.     Paul  who? 

CAREW.  [Laughing.]  "  Paul  who?  " —  [GooLE 
brings  in  a  bundle,  and  exit.  CAREW  opens  it, 
displaying  the  new  suit.]  Paul!  Why,  Saint 
Paul,  Nick  — 't  is  Paul's  Cathedral  boys,  I  mean. 
—  Marry,  what  dost  say  to  this? 

NICK.  [Slowly.]  I  'd  like  another  barley 
cake. 

CAREW.  [Dropping  the  garments,  as  if  in  sur 
prise.]  You  'd  what? 

NICK.  I  'd  like  another  barley-cake. 
[Quietly,  helping  himself  to  the  honey.] 

CAREW.  Upon  my  word,  and  on  the  remnant  of 
mine  honor !  Why,  thou  'dst  say  "  Pooh !  "  to  a 
cannon-ball !  My  faith,  boy,  thou  'rt  to  sing  with 
the  children  of  Paul's ;  to  play  with  the  cathedral 
company;  to  be  a  bright  particular  star  in  the 
sweetest  galaxy  that  ever  shone  in  English  sky! 
Dost  take  me  yet? 

NICK.  [Busily  sopping  the  honey  with  his 
cake.]  Aye. 

CAREW.  [Playing  with  his  glass  uneasily,  and 
tapping  his  heel  upon  the  floor.]  'T  is  the  flood- 
tide  of  thy  fortune,  boy!  [NICK  does  not  an- 


90  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

swer.~\  Thou  'rt  foolishly  stubborn-hearted. 
But,  marry  come  up:  thou  art  to  sing  here  to 
night  before  the  old  precentor  of  St.  Paul's,  Mas 
ter  Nathaniel  Gyles,  that  he  may  take  thy  range 
and  worth.  Now,  truly,  thou  wilt  do  thy  very 
best?  [Enter  the  BUTLER  with  some  water  in  a 
ewer  which  he  pours  into  a  basin  for  NICK  to  wash 
his  hands.  NICK  wipes  his  hands  in  silence.] 
Come  [sharply],  thou  'It  sing  thy  very  best? 

NICK.  [Doggedly.]  There  's  nothing  else  to 
do. 

CICELY.     Daddy ! 

CAREW.  Nay,  child. —  He  will  be  here 
shortly. —  Hark !  He  is  even  now  at  the  door. — 
Go,  Nick,  and  don  thy  new  costume.  Gregory 
[enter  GOOLE],  do  you  and  Jem  here  help  the  lad 
to  don  his  suit  in  a  trice.  [Exeunt  NICK  with 
GOOLE  and  bundle,  followed  by  the  BUTLER.  En 
ter  GYLES,  an  old  man,  with  thin  legs,  wrinkled, 
yellow  face,  thin,  sandy  hair,  and  keen  eyes;  with 
a  broad  gold  chain  about  his  neck.  He  is  pom 
pously  pedantic.  Good  even,  Master  Gyles. 
Thou  'rt  good  to  come. 

GYLES.  [Puffing.]  Pouf!  Thy  stairs  be 
steep,  Master  Carew. —  God  give  ye  good  even, 
Mistress  Cicely. —  Zounds,  sir,  I  'd  climb  a  stair- 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  91 

way  forty  paces  long  to  hear  a  clear  tone  sung. 
Thou  saidst  thy  lad  could  out-sing  all  of  mine. 
Sir,  ye  touch  me  near  home  there. 

CAREW.  I  '11  prove  my  words,  Master  Na 
thaniel  Gyles,  or  pay  thee  forfeit  of  forty  golden 
pounds. 

GYLES.  Let 's  have  no  more  of  boasts.  Let 's 
hear  the  lad. 

CAREW.  He  '11  be  here  anon,  as  soon  as  his  new 
clothes  be  donned.  And  now,  Master  Gyles,  let 
us  finish  the  matter.  Ye  clearly  understand, 
if  ye  take  the  lad,  thine  ancient  right  as  master  of 
the  school,  to  seize  for  St.  Paul's  choir  whatever 
voices  please  thee,  will  not  serve  with  me.  Ye  have 
sworn  he  shall  still  be  mine,  to  have  and  to  hold, 
with  all  his  earnings,  in  spite  of  thy  royal  preroga 
tives. 

GYLES.  [Haughtily.]  Thou  hadst  mine  oath 
this  afternoon  before  I  have  even  seen  the  boy. 
Dost  think  me  perjured?  Me?  Pouf!  I  know 
my  place :  one  peg  below  the  Dean,  sir.  My  oath  's 
my  oath. 

CAREW.  Good !  —  I  will  teach  him  how  to  act 
myself.  He  stays  with  me,  you  understand.  I  '11 
dress  him,  too;  for  students'  robes  be  shabby 
stuff.  But  for  the  rest  — 


92  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

GYLES.     Trust  me. 

CAREW.  Aye,  verily.  But  have  a  care,  Master 
Gyles  —  one  cannot  teach  the  lark  its  song:  — 
change  not  his  warbling  skylark  notes. 

GYLES.  "Sir!  I  studied  in  the  best  schools  in 
the  world. 

CAREW.  Soft !  —  Enough  —  here  's  the  boy. 
[Enter  NICK,  dressed  in  the  new  suit:  There 
is  a  fine  white  shirt  of  Holland  linen,  and  long 
hose  of  grayish  blue,  with  puffed  and  slashed 
trunks  of  velvet  so  blue  as  to  be  almost  black;  and 
a  sleeveless  jerkin  of  the  same  color,  with  roses 
embroidered  in  silk,  made  loose  from  breast  to  col 
lar,  which  is  itself  of  broad  white  lace,  so  that  the 
waistcoat  of  dull  silk  beneath  may  show;  and  then 
a  cloak  of  damask  with  a  silver  clasp;  a  buff  leather 
belt  with  a  chubby  purse  hung  to  it  by  a  chain;  tan 
colored  slippers;  and  a  jaunty  velvet  cap  with  a 
short  white  plume.'} 

GYLES.     A  skylark?    A  popinjay! 

CICELY.  [Dancing  toward  NICK,  from  her  re 
treat  by  the  window,  and  clapping  her  hands  as 
she  circles  around  him.~\  Oh,  brave,  brave,  brave ! 
Why,  't  is  a  prince,  a  king !  Oh,  Nick,  I  told 
thee  thou  'd  be  beautiful  to  see ! 


"Oh,  Nick,  thou  art  most  beautiful  to  see!"  cried  Cicely. 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  93 

CAREW.  My  soul!  [Steps  back  and  snaps  his 
fingers  in  delight.]  Why,  lad,  thou  art  the  brav 
est  bird  ever  broke  shell  !  —  Master  Nathaniel 
Gyles,  Nick.  [NICK 


GYLES.  [Crustily.'}  Pouf!  Pouf!  Tempus 
fugit  —  that  is  to  say,  we  have  no  time  to  waste. 
Marry,  boy,  if  thou  hast  merit,  let  us  now  enjoy 
it.  —  Come,  first  of  all  I  bid  thee  sing  this  song 
[unrolling  a  parchment  for  NICK]. 

NICK.  But,  sir,  I  do  na  know  how  to  sing  from 
paper. 

GYLES.     What!  canst  not  read  music? 

NICK.     Nay,  sir,  I  never  learned. 

GYLES.     Pouf!     So?     Canst  run  the  scale? 

NICK.  I  think  so,  sir.  [Singing.]  Do,  re, 
mi,  fa,  sol,  la,  si,  do.  —  Do,  si,  la,  sol,  —  re  — 
nay,  't  is  fa  —  fa  — 

GYLES.  Tut,  tut  !  Thou  'st  ruined  it.  — 
Come,  dost  know  the  new  Italian  coranto  ? 

NICK.     Nay,  sir,  I  never  heard  of  it. 

GYLES.  Hast  learned  perchance  to  dance  the 
galliard  ? 

NICK.     Nay,  sir  ;  I  do  not  know  that  either. 


94  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

GYLES.     Pouf!  pouf !     Canst  act  at  all? 

NICK.  Why,  sir,  Master  Carew  hath  taught 
me  lines  from  Master  Heywood's  play,  "  The 
Three  Gray  Gowns  " —  "  Good  my  lord,  I  bring 
a  letter  — " 

GYLES.  Nay,  't  is  too  stiff.  Canst  make  a 
court-like  bow?  [Nicx  bows  awkwardly.]  — 
Nay,  nay;  that  way  thou  trippest  over  thine  own 
feet.  Not  so;  but  so.  [Bows.]  Now,  look  'e, 
dost  know  any  dance  at  all? 

NICK.     Nay,  sir;  father  would  na  have  it. 

GYLES.  [Impatiently,  to  CAREW.]  Why,  sir, 
what  doth  he  know?  Ye  have  misrepresented  this 
boy  to  me,  to  the  waste  of  much  good  time.  He 
cannot  dance,  nor  act,  nor  read  a  note ;  he  cannot 
even  sing  a  scale. 

CAREW.  [Haughtily.]  Soft,  Master  Gyles  — 
Dost  mean  to  say  I  lied  to  thee?  Marry,  sir,  I 
told  thee  only  the  boy  could  sing ;  and  sing  he  can. 

GYLES.  Pouf,  sir  —  words  !  I  know  my  place : 
"  Primus  Magister  Scholarum  " —  nothing  less  — 
't  is  so  set  down.  And  I  tell  thee,  sir,  he  can't  tell 
a  prick-song  from  a  bottle  of  hay,  or  a  triolet  from 
a  violet ;  he  would  not  know  a  canon  from  a  croco 
dile,  or  a  fugue  from  a  hole  in  the  ground. 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  95 

CAREW.  Oh,  f ol-de-riddle  de  f ol-de-rol !  What 
has  that  to  do  with  it?  I  tell  thee  still  the  boy  can 
sing. 

GYLES.  And  I  say,  sir,  that  music  does  not 
grow  like  weeds. 

CAREW.     Nor  fa-la-las  make  up  a  voice. 

GYLES.  What!  How?  Wilt  thou  teach  me? 
Thou,  who  knowest  not  a  staccato  from  a  stick  of 
licorice  ?  —  Why  !  I  'd  best  be  going,  sir.  My 
cloak  there,  without ! 

CAREW.  [Shrugging  his  shoulders,  impa 
tiently.]  Come,  Master  Gyles,  we  waste  words. 
Thou  knowest  me  no  simple  gull.  And  I  tell 
thee,  sir,  he  has  the  voice  that  thou  dost  need  to 
win  the  favor  of  the  Queen.  Just  hear  him  once 
sing  his  own  song  in  his  own  way  —  thou  'It  pawn 
thine  ears  to  hear  him  twice. 

GYLES.  Come,  boy,  sing,  and  that  forthwith  — 
if  thou  canst  sing  at  all. 

CAREW.  [In  a  low,  hard  tone  to  NICK.] 
Thou  'It  do  thy  level  best !  [Claps  his  hand 
threateningly  upon  his  dagger.  NICK  cringes, 
shrinking  from  him  as  in  fear.  CICELY  darts  to 
his  side.] 


96  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

CICELY.  Don't  mind  their  harsh  words,  Nick. 
But  sing  for  me.  Remember  what  thou  toldst  me 
of  thy  home  in  Stratford,  with  the  birds  all  sing 
ing  by  the  river,  the  mowers  in  the  fields,  and  the 
clover  and  wild-roses  in  the  hedgerows. —  Nay, 
Nick,  I  know  thou  'It  sing  thy  lark-song  just  for 
me! 

CAREW.  [Seated,  with  his  head  in  his  hands, 
waiting,  now  looks  up  quickly  thinking  NICK  is  not 
going  to  sing.~\  By  the  whistle  of  the  Lord  High 
Admiral !  — 

NICK.  [Beginning  to  sing,  with  a  distant  look 
in  his  eyes:~\ 

Hark,  hark !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chalic'd  flowers  that  lies  ; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes ; 
With  everything  that  pretty  is, 

My  lady  sweet,  arise, 
Arise,  arise. 

[The  song  ends  with  the  bird-trill  as  before. 
CICELY  watches  NICK  with  shining  eyes. 
CAREW'S  face  is  buried  in  his  hands.  GYLES 
starts  from  his  chair,  his  wrinkled  hands 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  97 

pressed  together  against  his  breast  almost  as 
if  in  prayer.  The  BUTLER  peeps  m  at  the 
door.] 

BUTLER.     Do,  now,  barken  to  un ! 

GYLES.     [Panting. ]     That  voice !  that  voice ! 

CAREW.  [Brokenly.]  I  '11  leave  thee  go,  lad, 
—  ma  foi,  I  '11  leave  thee  go !  But  nay,  I  dare  not 
leave  thee  go.  [Drawing  his  hand  hastily  over  his 
face.] 

CICELY.  Oh,  Nick,  I  love  thee !  I  '11  make  a 
home  forever  for  thee  here. 

GYLES.  Mirabile!  It  is  impossible,  and  I  have 
dreamed.  Soft  as  a  flute  and  silver  clear. — 
Nay,  Carew,  't  was  a  soul  I  heard;  the  lad's  own 
white  young  soul.  'T  was  his  soul  that  set  a  song 
on  fire  in  the  sky,  and  dropped  it  quivering  and 
bright  into  our  shadow  world. —  My  faith, 
there  's  a  sour  bug  flown  in  mine  eye  that  makes 
it  water  so. 

CAREW.     Thou  'It  take  him  then? 

GYLES.  Take  him  ?  Marry,  I  '11  make  him  first 
singer  of  them  all!  —  [There  comes  the  sound  of 
boys'  voices  singing,  in  the  street  below.~\  What 's 
here  ?  —  My  lads  —  and  out  in  the  street  ? 


98  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

VOICES.     [Smging :] 

Down-a-down,  hey,  down-a-down, 
Hey  derry  derry  down-a-down ! 

Cold  's  the  wind,  and  wet 's  the  rain ; 

Saint  Hugh,  be  our  good  speed ! 
Ill  is  the  weather  that  bringeth  no  gain, 

Nor  helps  good  hearts  in  need. 

Down-a-down,  hey,  down-a-down, 
Hey  derry  derry  down-a-down! 

[Still  outside,  calling. 1  Master  Gyles !  Master 
Gyles !  Where  art  thou,  Master  Gyles  ? 

GYLES.      [Goes  to  window.']     Marry,  come  up. 

— They've    traced    me    hither .     What    news 

there?  J[At  the  window.]  What  news? — Belike 
the  Queen's  message  hath  come.  [Turns  toward 
stair.] 

COLLEY.  [Outside  at  -first,  running  up  the 
stairs,  and  entering  the  room  out  of  breath.] 
What,  there, —  oh,  Master  Gyles  —  Master 
Carew  [bowing]  !  —  Mistress  [bowing]  ! 

NICK.  [As  through  the  open  window  two  books 
come  thumping  past  his  ears.]  Whatever  in  the 
world ! 


ACT  III         MASTER  SKYLARK  99 

GYLES.     What 's  to  do  ? 

COLLEY.  [As  he  hands  GYLES  a  stamped  and 
sealed  parchment.]  A  man-at-arms  of  the  Queen's 
own  yeomen  of  the  guard  hath  brought  this  from 
the  Palace,  sir.  [To  CAREW,  excitedly.]  Good 
news  —  good  news,  sir  1  Have  ye  heard  the  news? 
[Shouting  continues  below.]  We're  going  to 
Court.  Hurrah ! 

CAREW.      [Itt  at  ease.]     How  say  you? 

COLLEY.  Nay,  't  is  true,  sir.  [To  NICK.] 
Art  thou  the  new  boy?  Come  down  and  help  us 
sing.  Come  down  and  shout  with  us  in  the  street. 
[Other  boys  enter,  clustering  around  the  door.] 

NICK.  [Staring  at  COLLEY.]  Thou  look'st 
like  Robin  Getley  of  Stratford  town.  Art  his 
twin  ? 

COLLEY.  [Laughing.]  Nay.  I  was  not 
hatched  from  a  Robin's  egg. —  'T  is  Nicholas 
Skylark,  boys. 

BOYS.  Come  on,  Nick. —  Come  with  us.  The 
Queen  hath  sent  for  us ! 

NICK.     The  Queen  —  hath  sent  —  for  us  ? 

COLLEY.  For  thee  and  me  and  all  of  us,  to  come 
to  Court  and  sing.  Hurrah  for  good  Queen  Bess ! 


100  MASTER  SKYLARK         ACT  III 

BOYS.  Hurrah,  hurrah,  for  good  Queen 
Bess !  —  Come  on,  Nick !  —  Help  us  sing  in  the 
street.  [They  suddenly  stop,  and  cheer:] 
Hurrah  for  Master  Gyles  ! 

GYLES.  [Folding  up  the  message,  slowly. ~\ 
Master  Carew,  the  Queen  hath  summoned  my  lads, 
to  sing  before  the  court  of  her  Gracious  Majesty, 
a  week  to-morrow  day ;  —  for  the  first  time,  sir,  in 
a  good  six  years.  Thy  boy,  sir, —  his  fortune  's 
made.  Here  's  my  hand  on  it ! 

BOYS.     Hurrah  for  Nick  Skylark! 

GYLES.  Be  off,  ye  rogues !  Ye  frisk  like  fishes 
in  the  depths  of  the  briny  sea. 

BOYS.  Hurrah  for  the  fishes  in  the  sea !  Hur 
rah! 

GYLES.  Soft,  ye  knaves  !  Save  thy  throats  for 
good  Queen  Bess. 

BOYS.     Hurrah  for  good  Queen  Bess! 

GYLES.  Be  still,  I  say,  ye  good-for-nothing 
varlets ;  or  ye  sha'n't  have  pie  and  ale  to-morrow 
night. —  But,  marry,  now,  ye  shall  have  pie  and 
ale  —  aye,  pie  and  ale  without  stint ;  for  ye  are 
good  lads,  and  have  pleased  the  Queen  at  last ;  and 
I  am  as  proud  of  ye  as  a  peacock  is  of  his  own  tail. 


ACT  III  MASTER  SKYLARK  101 

BOYS.  Hurrah  for  the  Queen  —  and  the  pie  — 
and  the  ale!  Hurrah  for  the  peacock  and  his 
tail. —  Ho,  a  rime !  —  Now,  all  together : 

Hurrah  for  the  Queen,  and  the  pie,  and  the  ale! 
Hurrah  for  the  peacock ;  hurrah  for  his  tail ! 
Hurrah  for  hurrah,  and  again  hurray  — 
We  're  going  to  Court  in  a  week  and  a  day 
To  sing  before  the  Queen ! 

CICELY.  [Leaving  her  place  by  her  father's 
chair.]  Art  going,  Nick? 

NICK.     May  I  go  ? 

CAREW.     Aye,  but  be  not  long. 

NICK.     I  '11  not. 

GYLES.  And  watch  that  honey-throat  of  thine 
lest  the  night-wind  steal  its  sweetness. 

NICK.     I  '11  watch,  sir. 

GOOLE.  [Who  has  come  in  sourly  at  the  noise; 
to  CAREW.]  I  '11  watch,  too ! 

CAREW.  It  matters  little  now  —  they  've  took 
the  boy. 

GOOLE.  I  know  a  dingy  lane  down  Billingsgate, 
where  the  lad  could  ne'er  be  found  —  by  the  ware- 


102  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  III 

house  sheds   along  the  water-front,  under  Fish- 
street  Hill.     I  could  hide  him  well  enough. 

CAREW.  Nay,  it  will  not  need,  my  pretty  knave. 
That  play  is  done. 

[NICK  goes  out  with  the  boys,  all  singing  as 
they  go  —  their  music  fading  away.  GOOLE 
exit  after  them.~\ 

GYLES.  Good  lads,  good  lads. —  Well,  Mas 
ter  Carew,  thy  boy  must  be  ready  to  go  to  prac 
tise  at  nine  in  the  morning. —  'T  is  a  happy 
night  for  me,  sir,  and  well  for  thee  the  day  thou 
plucked  this  jewel  of  a  skylark. —  I  bid  ye 
good  even,  sir.  Good  even,  Mistress  Cicely. 
[Exit,  muttering :]  Primus  Magister  Scho- 
larum.  .  .  . 

CICELY.  [Coming  to  CAREW,  who  has  been 
staring  after  the  precentor,  with  a  troubled  look 
upon  his  face;  softly.]  Oh,  Daddy,  will  he  sing 
before  the  Queen  herself? 

CAREW.  Aye,  lass.  I  fear  we  've  lost  the  lad 
I  brought  to  be  thy  playmate.  He  will  be  famous 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

CICELY.  But,  Daddy,  will  he  come  no  more  to 
sing  for  thee  and  me  ? 


ACT  III  MASTER  SKYLARK  103 

CAREW.  I  fear  me,  little  one.  Truly,  I  fear 
me,  he  '11  not. 

CICELY.     And  why  not,  Daddy  ? 

CAREW.  Why,  dear  lass,  that  silver  throat  of 
his  will  so  charm  the  Queen  she  '11  never  let  him 
out  of  her  hearing  again. 

CICELY.     But  he  will  come  back  to  stay  with  us  ? 
CAREW.     That,  I  cannot  tell. 

CICELY.  Then  what  will  his  mother  do  ?  Thou 
wast  going  to  send  him  back  to  Stratford. 

CAREW.  I  know,  I  know. —  But  come,  thou 
must  be  trotting  off  to  bed.  [He  snuffs  out  all 
but  two  candles,  and  the  room  grows  dark,  except 
for  the  fire  on  the  hearth.] 

CICELY.  [Yawning.]  Aye,  I  be  very  full  o' 
dreams ;  that  is  because  last  night  I  sat  up  half  the 
night  to  wait  for  thee.  Thou  must  not  dice  so 
late  again.  [She  puts  her  arms  around  his  neck.] 

CAREW.  [Kissing  her.]  Thou  art  thine  own 
sweet  mother's  child. —  Nay,  I  '11  kiss  away  thy 
yawns.  [Enter  NICK.] 

CICELY.  [Leaping  up  as  NICK  enters,  radiant, 
and  rushing  towards  him.]  Oh,  Nick!  dear  Nick, 
how  long  thou  hast  been  gone ! 


104  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  III 

NICK.  And,  Cicely,  to-morrow  week  I  go  to  see 
the  Queen.  To-morrow  week  we  sing  at  Court  be 
fore  good  Queen  Bess. 

CICELY.     'T  will  be  lonely  here  without  thee. 
NICK.     I  '11  soon  be  back  again. 

CAEEW.     [Sadly.]     But    what    of    Stratford, 

Nick? 

NICK.  Why  —  why,  Master  Carew,  thou  'It  let 
me  go  and  see  my  mother  now,  for  I  will  sing  my 
very  best,  to  bring  thee  credit  and  the  Queen's 
good  will,  and  then  thou  canst  not  say  me  nay. 

CAEEW.  And  will  not  neither,  lad.  Thou  wilt 
come  to  see  us  soon  again,  my  lad  ? 

NICK.     Why,  to  be  sure  I  will. 

CICELY.  [Softly.]  If  thou  shouldst  not,  I  'd 
run  to  thee. 

NICK.  Wouldst  truly,  Cicely  ?  I  '11  come 
again  to  fetch  thee  by  and  by.  When  I  ha'  told 
my  mother  all,  she  '11  be  thy  mother,  too. 

CAEEW.  [As  CICELY  puts  her  head  on  her  arm 
against  his  shoulder,  and  begins  to  sob]  Why, 
Cicely  lass,  be  not  so  sad.  [To  NICK.]  Thou 
makest  both  our  hearts  to  ache,  we  love  thee  so. 


ACT  III  MASTER  SKYLARK  105 

Nay,  lass,  thou  'It  see  him  again  in  the  morning. — 
There,  peace;  and  he  shall  sing  for  thee  again,  if 
thou  wilt  smile. —  Wilt  not,  Nick? 

NICK.     Aye,  Master  Carew. 

CAREW.  Then  off  with  thee  to  slumberland,  and 
Nick  will  speed  thee  thither  with  his  song,  whilst 
I  sit  here  awhile  and  mend  this  dying  fire. 

[CICELY  kisses  CAREW  and  NICK  good  night, 
and  exit  slowly  to  her  little  room  behind  one 
of  the  portieres.  NICK  follows,  to  the 
screened  couch,  after  CAREW  has  kissed  him 
tenderly  upon  the  forehead.  CAREW  lights 
another  candle,  CICELY  having  taken  one  of 
the  two  remaining  lighted  ones,  and  sits  down 
wearily  by  the  fireside,  alone.  NICK  sings  a 
bar  or  two  of  the  madrigal;  but  at  length  his 
voice  dies  down  drowsily,  and  he  is  still. 
CAREW  gets  up,  takes  one  of  the  candles,  and, 
going  softly  to  the  screen,  moves  it  partially 
aside  and  gazes  in  upon  the  boy,  shading  the 
candle  with  his  hand.  NICK  has  laid  his  cloak 
and  outer  clothes  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and 
is  fast  asleep  in  bed.] 

Thou  dear-beloved,  foolish  lad !  To  dream  that 
I  could  keep  thee  when  once  the  Queen  hath  heard 
thee  sing!  A  freed  skylark  come  back  to  its  cage? 


106  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  III 

No,  never.  Thou  'It  catch  the  skirts  of  glory  in 
thine  hand,  and  tread  the  heels  of  happy  chance, 
but  not  come  back  again  to  me. —  Ai,  lad,  I  would 
thou  wert  my  son ! 

[He  takes  in  some  sweetmeats  to  lay  beside 
NICK'S  pillow;  then  comes  out  hurriedly, 
replacing  the  screen;  stops  to  look  in  affec 
tionately  at  CICELY,  who  is  also  fast  asleep; 
throws  her  a  kiss  silently,  and  draws  the  por 
tiere  there.  Then  he  goes  to  the  outer 
door,  listens  a  moment,  bars  it  carefully;  he 
comes  to  a  secret  panel  in  the  wall,  carved  with 
a  cherub's  head,  and  stands  before  it  with  a 
queer,  hesitating  look  upon  his  face.  Silently 
slipping  aside  the  carved  panel,  he  takes  from 
the  hollow  wall  an  inlaid  rosewood  box,  a 
woman's  slipper,  and  a  dusty  gittern  tied  with 
a  faded  ribbon  about  its  neck.  Gazing  at 
these,  he  starts  to  tune  the  gittern,  but  a 
string  snaps.] 

Aye,  the  string  is  snapped ;  —  my  strings  all  are 
snapped!  [He  opens  the  box  and  takes  out  a 
woman's  riding  glove  and  a  miniature  upon  ivory, 
which  he  holds  up  to  the  light.]  Eyes  like  her 
mother's,  and  her  voice,  too.  [Then  he  takes  out 
a  bag  of  money  from  the  wall,  goes  to  the  nearest 
door  and  cautiously  tries  the  latch.  Then  spread- 


ACT  III  MASTER  SKYLARK  107 

ing  the  heap  of  coins  upon  the  table,  he  counts 
them  into  three  piles,  saying  over  and  over:]  One 
for  me,  and  one  for  thee,  and  two  for  Cicely 
Carew. —  One  for  me,  and  one  for  thee,  and  two 
for  Cicely  Carew. —  One  for  me,  and  one  for 
thee,  and  two  for  Cicely  Carew.  [Goes  on  piling 
the  coins.]  —  I  must  win  to-night.  Gad's  boons ! 
I  cannot  lose  unless  the  dice  be  cogged.  Aye,  but 
Fulk  Sandells  is  a  silky  rogue  at  the  dice. —  Ha ! 
[Claps  his  hand  to  his  poniard]  —  One  for  me, 
and  one  for  thee,  and  two  for  Cicely  Carew. — 
Ah !  —  none  for  me,  but  one  for  thee,  and  two  for 
Cicely  Carew! 

[As  he  sweeps  two  of  the  piles  into  bright  yellow 
buckskin  bags,  a  coin  drops  noisily  upon  the 
floor.  He  starts,  and  closes  the  panel  like  a 
flash.  Then,  peering  right  and  left,  he  blows 
out  the  candles.  The  panel  is  heard  opened 
softly  again,  a  chink  of  money,  the  closing  of 
the  panel.  He  is  heard  sweeping  the  other 
pile  of  coins  into  his  wallet.  The  outer  door 
is  unlocked  and  closed  again.  A  stairway 
creaks.  Silence. 

Absolute  darkness  as  the  CURTAIN  slowly 
faUs] 

[End  of  ACT  III] 


ACT  IV 

SCENE    1 

\Throne  room  of  the  royal  palace,  Greenwich, 
An  afternoon  of  the  week  following.  Magnifi 
cent  appointments,  curtained  entrances,  and 
splendid  throne  to  the  left,  "with  a  velvet 
canopy  under  which,  in  pearls,  "  Vivat  Regina, 
Elizabetha."  A  large  double  curtain  at  the 
back  of  the  room,  which,  when  parted,  discloses 
a  small  practical  platform  and  a  larger  one  with 
extensive  room  painted  in  perspective.  Over 
the  doorway  here  and  also  over  the  great  door 
to  the  right,  a  great  golden  rose,  with  the  motto 
below,  "  Dieu  et  mon  droit." 

Queen  Elizabeth  is  on  the  throne,  with  attendants, 
courtiers,  a  Venetian  ambassador,  pages, 
SHAKESPEARE,  JONSON,  and  other  players. 
Two  guards,  with  halberds,  stand  at  the  heavy 
door  to  the  right. 

Scene  opens  with  orchestral  curtain  music  of  an 
old  English  aria.  As  curtain  rises,  orchestra 
music  ceases,  the  inner  curtain  is  parted,  and 
108 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK  109 

COLLEY,  dressed  as  a  girl,  comes  forward  on 
the  small  platform  at  the  rear.] 

COLLEY.  And  so  doth  end  this  masque  of  Sum 
mertime  and  Spring,  wherein  both  claimed  to  be 
best  loved.  They  've  had  their  say  of  wit  and 
humor,  and  each  her  part  of  songs  and  dance ;  and 
win  who  may,  roses  or  daffodils,  the  winner  is  but 
that  [snapping  his  fingers]  beside  our  Queen! 
God  save  Queen  Bess ! 

[Court  laughs  and  claps.  NICK  appears  beside 
COLLEY,  and  they  sing  a  duet,  as  a  flute, 
viol,  and  harp,  on  the  stage  (within),  strike 
in  with  the  same  aria  played  previously  by  the 
orchestra,  accompanying  them. 

For  the  song,  unless  some  especially  appropriate 
Elizabethan  lyric  is  used,  it  would  be  perhaps 
best  to  use  "  Hey,  laddie,  hark  to  the  merry, 
merry  lark!  "  or  "  Pack,  clouds,  away,"  or 
"  Hark,  hark!  the  lark,"  as  before,  since  the 
duet  effect  will  avoid  any  monotony  of  repeti 
tion. 

Skylark  warbling  at  the  end.  Animated  ap 
plause  by  the  Court  as  they  bow,  and,  with  a 
final  flourish  of  the  instruments,  exeunt. 
Then  the  applause  bursts  out  tumultuously  as 
ELIZABETH,  dropping  her  fan,  leads  it  heart- 


110  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  IV 

ily  again.     NICK  and  COLLEY  reappear,  bow 
once  more,  and  exeunt.] 

QUEEN.  {With  bright  eyes,  laughing,  to  the 
Venetian  ambassador,  who  seems  to  be  in  a  dream.] 
It  is  a  good  song,  signer ! 

AMBASSADOR.  [Bowing  low.]  A  very  good 
song,  your  Majesty. 

QUEEN.  Ah,  there  are  no  songs  like  English 
songs  —  there  is  no  land  like  England  —  my  Eng 
land!  [To  PAGE.]  Attend!  I  will  speak  with 
those  lads. 

[Pages  run  behind  scenes.  Audience  whispers. 
AMBASSADOR  stoops  to  pick  up  the  QUEEN'S 
fan.  Enter  NICK  and  COLLEY,  kneel  before 
the  QUEEN,  bowing  before  her  on  the  dais. 
As  they  come  in,  all  applaud,  calling  "  Bravo! 
Bravo! —  Well  done,  lads!"  The  QUEEN 
leans  forward  slightly  to  raise  them,  smiling, 
saying  heartily:] 

Stand,  dear  lads.  Be  lifted  up  by  thine  own 
singing,  as  our  hearts  have  been  uplifted  by  thy 
songs.  And  name  me  the  price  of  thy  sweet 
song.  [Tapping  COLLEY'S  cheek  with  her  fan.] 
Come,  what  wilt  thou  have  of  me,  fair  lad  in  maid's 
attire  ? 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK  111 

COLLEY.  [Tremblingly.]  That  I  may  stay  in 
the  palace  forever  and  sing  for  your  Majesty. 

QUEEN.  That  is  right  prettily  asked.  Thou 
shalt  indeed,  my  singing  page. —  And  thou,  Mas 
ter  Lark  [fanning  the  hair  back  from  NICK'S  fore 
head  with  her  beautiful  /«w]  with  thy  song  of  the 
sky  —  wilt  thou  too  be  of  our  choir  and  house 
hold? 

NICK.  [Looking  up  at  the  burning  torches  on 
the  watt,  and  drawing  a  long  breath,  as  the  QUEEN 
speaks,  and  then  looking  down  again  as  if  with 
dazzled  eyes.]  Nay.  Let  me  go  home. 

QUEEN.  [After  a  surprised  pause]  Surely, 
boy,  't  is  an  ill-considered  speech,  or  else  this  home 
of  thine  must  be  a  famous  place. 

NICK.  [As  some  of  the  maids  of  honor  titter, 
and  a  courtier  laughs,  he  looks  up  quickly,  squar 
ing  his  shoulders;  half -defiantly]  I  would  rather 
be  there  than  here. 

QUEEN.  [Visibly  annoyed]  Thou  art  more 
curt  than  courteous.  Is  it  not  good  enough  for 
thee  here? 

NICK.     I  could  na  live  in  such  a  place. 

QUEEN.  [With  a  dangerous  light  in  her  eyes] 
Marry,  art  thou  so  choice?  These  others  find  no 
fault  with  the  life. 


112       MASTER  SKYLARK    ACT  IV 

NICK.  Then  they  be  born  to  it,  or  they  could 
abide  it  no  more  than  I  —  they  would  na  fit. 

A  COURTIER.      [Laughing.]     Haw,  haw! 

QUEEN.  [With  a  quick  glance  at  him.]  Old 
pegs  have  been  made  to  fit  new  holes  before  to-day, 
and  the  trick  can  be  done  again. —  But  what  hath 
put  thee  so  out  of  conceit  with  our  best-beloved 
palace  ? 

NICK.  I  canna  bide  in  a  place  so  fine.  'T  is 
not  homelike.  I  could  na  sleep  in  the  bed  last 
night. 

QUEEN.  [Angrily,  as  the  Venetian  ambassador 
smiles  in  his  beard.]  What,  we  commanded  good 
beds !  This  shall  be  seen  to. 

NICK.  [Hastily.]  Oh,  it  was  a  good  bed  —  a 
very  good  bed,  your  Majesty!  But  the  mattress 
puffed  up  like  a  cloud  in  a  bag,  and  almost  smoth 
ered  me;  and  it  was  so  soft  and  hot  that  it  gave 
me  a  fever. 

QUEEN.  [Leaning  back  m  her  seat  and  laugh 
ing,  at  which  the  whole  court  joins  in.]  Upon  my 
word,  it  is  an  odd  skylark  cannot  sleep  in  feathers. 
What  didst  thou  do,  forsooth? 

NICK.  I  slept  in  the  coverlid  on  the  floor.  It  is 
na  hurt  —  I  dusted  the  place  well, —  and  I  slept 
like  a  top. 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK  113 

QUEEN.  [Laughing .]  Now,  verily,  if  it  be 
floors,  we  have  acres  to  spare.  Come,  we  are  ill 
used  to  begging  —  thou 'It  stay?  [NiCK  shakes 
his  head.}  Ma  foi!  What  is  it  sticks  in  thy 
throat?  [She  taps  with  her  fan,  as  he  still  stands 
silent.}  Thou  art  bedazzled  like.  Think  twice  — 
preferment  does  not  bloom  on  hedgerows  every 
day;  thou  wilt  accept?  [NiCK  slowly  shakes  his 
head.]  Go  then.  [She  shrugs  her  shoulders,  illy 
pleased,  and  turning  toward  COLLEY,  takes  him  by 
the  hand  and  draws  him  closer  to  her,  smiling  at  his 
guise.]  Thy  comrade  hath  more  wit. 

NICK.  [Quietly,  loosing  his  hold  at  last  on  COL- 
LEY'S  han d.  ]  He  hath  no  mother.  I  would  rather 
have  my  mother  than  his  wit. 

QUEEN.  [Turning  sharply  back,  her  keen  eyes 
sparkling,  yet  soft.]  Thou  art  no  fool.  [A  little 
murmur  runs  through  the  room.  She  sits  a  mo 
ment,  silent,  studying  his  face.]  Or  if  thou  art, 
upon  my  word  I  like  the  breed. —  Aye,  sirs  [sit 
ting  up  very  straight  and  lookmg  into  the  faces  of 
her  court],  a  lad  who  loves  his  mother  thus  doth 
make  a  man  who  loves  his  native  land  — 't  is  no  bad 
streak  in  the  blood.  Master  Skylark,  home  to 
London  thou  shalt  go  this  very  night. 

NICK.     I  do  na  live  in  London  — 


114  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  IV 

QUEEN.  What  matters  the  place?  Live  where 
soever  thine  heart  doth  please.  It  is  enough  —  so. 
Thou  mayst  kiss  our  hand. 

[NicK  kneels  and  kisses  her  hand  as  if  in  a 
dream.  Then  a  page  touches  his  arm  as  he 
arises,  and  bowing  backward  from  the  throne, 
comes  with  him  to  the  double  curtain.  There 
MASTER  GYLES  meets  him  with  the  torn  manu- 
script  of  the  music  in  his  hand,  and  laying  his 
hand  upon  the  boy's  head,  says  as  they  exeunt 
and  the  curtain  comes  together  again:] 

GYLES.     Thy  cake  is  burned  to  a  coal. 

QUEEN.  And  now,  my  lords,  't  is  two  hours  yet 
till  Master  Shakespeare  and  his  friends  act  for 
us  his  Dream  play  of  Midsummer.  [She  holds  out 
her  hand  commandingly.  SHAKESPEARE  bows  low, 
steps  forward,  kneels  upon  one  knee,  and  kisses  her 
hand.]  Arise,  thou  Prince  of  Players!  Anon 
we  '11  sue  thee  to  write  a  special  play  for  us. 
We  would  see  that  jovial  fat  man  Falstaff  lost  in 
love.  'T  would  make  rare  sport.  But  more  of 
this  to-night. —  I  bid  ye  all  make  merry. 

[QUEEN  rises.  Exeunt  ceremoniously,  QUEEN 
and  court,  except  SHAKESPEARE,  JONSON,  and 
two  players.  Guards  remain  also.  As 
exeunt,  choir-boys  may  be  partially  re- 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK  115 

vealed  on  platform   stage,   singing  a   reces 
sional] 

JONSON.  {Clapping  SHAKESPEARE  on  the  shoul 
der.]  Fie  upon  thee,  Will!  Royal  favor  at  last, 
and  sober  as  a  church? 

SHAKESPEARE.  Aye,  Ben ;  but  Fame  's  a  can 
dle's  gleam.  My  heart  is  dark. 

JONSON.     What,  Will!     Thy  son? 
SHAKESPEARE.     Aye.     All  on  a  sudden. 

JONSON.  [Feelingly.]  Ah,  Will;  the  sweetest 
glory  hath  then  a  bitter  taste. —  Heigho!  But 
Will,  thou  still  must  come  and  see  my  little  Ben? 
He  's  plump  as  a  cannon  ball. 

SHAKESPEARE.  I  '11  come  —  some  day.  [Smil 
ing.]  Give  him  my  love.  [A  page  enters,  and 
whispers  to  one  of  the  players.]  What  is  it,  lad? 

1  PLAYER.     A  boy  who  saith  that  he  must  see 
thee,  Master,  on  his  life. 

2  PLAYER.     [NED  HAWTHORN  :  not  to  be  con 
fused  with  2  PLAYER  in  Act  II.,   who  is  FULK 

SANDELLS.]    Nay,  Will,  he'll  only  pluck  thy  pocket 
with  a  doleful  lie. 


116  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  IV 

JONSON.  Then  tell  him  to  go  back  again. 
We  've  sucked  the  sweets  from  Stratford. 

SHAKESPEARE.     Go  bring  him  in. 

JONSON.  Nay,  Will ;  this  makes  the  third  with 
in  the  month. —  Here,  boy,  give  him  this  shilling, 
and  tell  him  to  be  off. 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Stopping  the  other's  shilling 
with  his  hand.]  We'll  see  him  first.  [Exit 
PAGE.] 

JONSON.  Oh,  Willy,  nilly !  Wilt  be  a  kite  to 
float  all  the  draggle-tails  that  flutter  down  from 
Warwickshire  ? 

SHAKESPEARE.  Why,  Ben,  't  is  not  the  kite  that 
floats  the  tail,  but  the  wind  which  floats  both  kite 
and  tail.  Thank  God,  we  've  caught  the  rising 
wind ;  so,  hey  for  draggle-tails !  —  we  '11  take  up 
all  we  can. 

JONSON.  [Laughing  a  great,  bluff-hearted 
laugh.]  Tush,  Will,  as  always  thou  hast  taken 
the  wind  out  of  my  kite.  [Reenter  PAGE,  with 
NICK.]  Nay !  Why,  't  is  the  lad  who  sang. 
And  round-eyed  as  the  moon. 

NICK.  [Excitedly.]  Master  Will  —  Master 
Will  Shakespeare ! 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK  117 

SHAKESPEARE.  Well,  my  lad,  what  wilt  thou 
have  of  me? 

NICK.  Oh,  sir,  I  only  want  to  go  home.  Will 
ye  not  take  me  home? 

SHAKESPEARE.  Why,  lad,  canst  not  go  of  thine 
own  sweet  will? 

JONSON.  'Stead  of  making  our  sweet  Will  take 
thee? 

NICK.  Sirs,  I  do  still  fear  that  Master  Carew 
will  na  leave  me  go. 

JONSON.  Why!  What!  art  thou  Carew's 
silver-throated  lark? 

NICK.  Aye,  masters ;  he  hath  stolen  me  from 
home  a  long  fortnight,  and  I  —  and  I  —  I  do  na 
know  —  my  mother  may  be  dead  by  now. 

JONSON.     This  shall  be  seen  to. 
SHAKESPEARE.     Who  is  thy  mother,  lad? 
NICK.     Dame  Margaret  Attwood,  sir. 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Startled.]  What?  Mar 
garet  Attwood?  of  Stratford?  Art  thou  her 
Nicholas?  Why,  lad,  I  know  her  passing  well. 
[Significantly  and  reminiscently.]  Margery, 
sweet  Margery !  —  How  came  Carew  to  take  you 
from  her? 


118  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  IV 

NICK.  Why,  sir,  at  first,  I  ran  away,  because 
my  father  would  na  leave  me  see  the  Admiral's 
Company  play. 

SHAKESPEARE.  {Under  his  breath.]  Aye,  I 
know  the  man.  [To  JONSON.]  As  hard  as  iron, 
but  true  as  steel. — 

NICK.  Then  Master  Carew  kept  me  for  my 
voice,  and  had  me  sing  with  Paul's  boys.  He  hath 
kept  me  ever  in  duress;  and  I  be  still  afeard  he 
will  na  — 

SHAKESPEARE.  Have  no  fear,  my  lad;  he  shall 
not  stay  thee  more. 

NICK.     I  will  never  leave  my  mother  again! 

SHAKESPEARE.  Right,  lad;  do  not  leave  her 
till  thou  must. 

NICK.     If  I  had  never  run  away !  — 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Putting  both  arms  around  the 
lad,  and  looking  down  into  his  face.]  Nay,  then: 
we  will  amend  thy  trouble  speedily.  All  birds  hie 
home  in  spring  —  and  I  do,  too. 

NICK.     And  wilt  thou  — 

SHAKESPEARE.  Take  thee  home  to  thy  mother  ? 
Aye,  marry,  that  will  I. 


ACT  IV         MASTER  SKYLARK  119 

NICK.      [Breathlessly.]     Oh,  when,  sir? 

SHAKESPEARE.  We  shall  start  for  Stratford 
to-morrow. 

A  VOICE.  [Outside,  calling  sharply.]  What, 
ho !  What,  ho !  Within ;  what,  ho ! 

GUARD.      [Replying.]     Who  calls? 

VOICE.      [Shouting.]     A  message  for  players. 

GUARD.     Enter,  message. 

JONSON.  What's  this?  Hullo!  Tom  Hey- 
wood! 

HEYWOOD..  [Entering  breathlessly.]  What, 
there !  —  Will ;  —  and  thou,  Ben, —  both  — ! 
Why,  Nick,  art  thou  still  here  ? 

JONSON.  How  now?  What 's  thy  wild  news, 
brings  thee  so  quickly  back  to  the  Queen's  gate  ? 

HEYWOOD.  Oh,  there  's  to-do  —  for  players 
—  at  the  Falcon  Inn. —  Gaston  Carew  hath  — 
stabbed  Fulk  Sandells  —  dead  as  a  door-nail  — 
for  cheating  at  the  dice  —  and  hath  been  taken 
by  the  watch !  — 

SHAKESPEARE.     Is  this  the  very  truth? 

HEYWOOD.  Dear  Will,  the  very  truth. —  Dick 
Jones  was  there  —  and  saw  it  done. —  They  've 


120  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  IV 

haled  him  off  to  Newgate  Gaol! —  And,  lad  [to 
NICK],  he  would  see  thee  —  and  begs  thou  wouldst 
come  at  once  to  him  — 

NICK.  [Drawing  closer  to  SHAKESPEARE.] 
Master  Carew? 

HEYWOOD.  Lad,  he  cannot  harm  nor  take  thee 
if  he  would.  Wilt  come? 

NICK.     Oh,  Master  Heywood,  I  dare  na. 

HEYWOOD.  I  '11  fetch  thee  safely  back.  'T  is 
the  last  thing  he  '11  ever  ask  of  thee ;  there  's  some 
thing  he  would  say  to  thee  he  cannot  leave  unsaid. 
And,  lad,  he  '11  go  unshrift,  he  sweareth,  if  thou 
wilt  not  come. 

JONSON.  An'  thou  hast  peace  to  lend  the  dy 
ing — 

SHAKESPEARE.     Lend  it.     Best  so,  Nicholas. 

NICK.  I  '11  go,  then. —  But  't  is  more  for 
Cicely's  sake  than  his. 

SHAKESPEARE.  [As  exeunt  NICK  and  KEY- 
WOOD.]  I  hope  no  harm  may  come  to  him. 

JONSON.     A  most  sweet  lad. 

SHAKESPEARE.  The  son  of  gentle  Margaret 
Page,  who  married  the  sulky  tanner. 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK 

JONSON.  With  Carew  gone,  the  Admiral's  men 
will  lack  their  master-spirit. 

SHAKESPEARE.  True,  Ben.  —  A  brave  heart 
and  a  bold  tongue,  but  a  wild  life  to  boot.  —  Yet 
many  a  weary  day  he  cheered  me  on  when  skies 
hung  leaden  o'er  us  both.  But  Carew  hath  a 
daughter.  We  must  send  at  once  for  Cicely,  and 
see  her  well  bestowed. 

JONSON.  Aye,  she  should  be  fetched  straight 
away. 

SHAKESPEARE.  I  '11  take  the  lass  home  to 
Stratford  town  with  me,  to  be  a  sister  to  mine  own 
Susanna.  —  Ned  Hawthorn,  thou  wilt  go  for  her, 
I  know.  Thou  canst  return  in  time? 

2  PLAYER.  [Quickly.]  Right  gladly.  Aye, 
I  'm  off. 


SHAKESPEARE.  'T  was  just  four  years  ago  saw 
Marlowe's  bright  flame  quenched.  And  now 
Carew  will  travel  to  that  undiscovered  country 
from  whose  bourn  not  even  a  son  returns  to  tell 
us  aught  — 

JONSON.  Dear  Will  ;  tak'  't  not  so  to  heart.  — 
Come,  read  us  the  new-made  lines  from  thy  Summer 
Dream.  Hast  it  by  thee? 


122       MASTER  SKYLARK    ACT  IV 

SHAKESPEARE.  Aye.  [Unfolds  the  manu 
script.]  —  All  our  life 's  a  dream,  Ben.  But 
there  are  better  dreams,  thank  God!  Aye,  there 
are  better  dreams.  In  that  we  still  do  hope. — 
There  's  a  device  of  magic  in  this  Midsummer  fan 
tasy  of  mine ;  —  in  the  world  there  's  magic,  too. 
A  true  friend,  a  simple  faith,  a  warm  heart, 
and  a  merry  face  like  thine,  old  Jolly-Jest,  are 
medicine  for  woe. —  I  have  retouched  it  here. — 
You  call  to  mind  the  fairy  King  command- 
eth  Puck  to  fetch  a  magic  flower;  and  Puck  re- 
plieth : 

"  I  '11  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 
In  forty  minutes. — " 

JONSON.  Aye,  and  still  I  say  thy  forty  min 
utes  is  too  soon.  Thy  fairies  are  but  human  forms 
at  best.  Say  ten-score  minutes  mayhap;  not  a 
paltry  forty. 

SHAKESPEARE.  Nay ;  rather,  it  should  be  more 
quick,  not  more  slow  —  thought  flies  quicker  than 
the  lightning's  flash.  May  not  thy  mind  e'en  now 
dart  to  far  Cathay  and  come  again  whilst  one  may 
twink  an  eye?  And  fairies  are  but  thoughts; 
thoughts,  fairies  —  good  and  ill.  Come,  now, 
't  were  best  to  cut  the  term  in  two  and  leave  but 
twenty  there. 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK  123 

JONSON.  Tush!  Fie  upon  thee,  Will.  Ha, 
ha,  ha!  Thou  art  a  regular  flibbertigibbet.  But 
I  '11  catch  thee  napping  yet,  old  gossip,  and  fill  thee 
so  full  of  pepper-holes  that  thou  wilt  leak  epigrams. 
—  Nay,  leave  thy  forty  be. —  What  more? 

SHAKESPEARE.  I  told  thee  thoughts  are  fairies 
all,  the  messengers  of  our  living  dreams.  I  tell 
thee  now  that  thou  and  I  and  all  of  us  scribblers 
are  makers  of  dream-worlds,  and  every  one  we 
make  is  neither  more  nor  less  substantial  than  our 
selves.  [Turning  pages.]  I  put  it  thus,  from 
Duke  Theseus'  lips : 

"  The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 

Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to 

heaven, 

And  as  imagination  bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name." 

JONSON.  Aye,  Will,  't  is  true ;  most  true,  and 
none  so  ill  expressed. —  But  look,  what  now? 

SHAKESPEARE.  Ill  tidings,  from  his  face. 
[2  PLAYER,  HAWTHORN,  enters  hastily,  with  BUT 
LER.]  What  news,  Ned,  what  news ! 

2  PLAYER.  I  was  but  halfway  to  the  river,  my 
masters,  when  I  ran  full  upon  Carew's  own  but- 


MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  IV 

ler,  Jem  Barstow  here. —  He  saith  the  con 
stables  have  taken  charge  in  the  house  already, 
and  that  the  varlet,  Gregory  Goole,  came  in  great 
haste  an  hour  before,  and  without  a  word  of  what 
had  befallen  Carew,  took  Cicely  away. 

BUTLER.  A  did  na  question  un  much,  zurs,  for 
a  feared  the  rogue  summat  and  judged  un  to  have 
authority. 

JONSON.     There  's  villainy  doing. 

SHAKESPEARE.  'T  is  bad  indeed.  He  hath  her 
'prisoned  in  some  foul  den,  I  warrant,  waiting  on 
ransom. 

2  PLAYER.     I  fear  it,  Will. 

BUTLER.  Aye,  zurs. —  An'  he  said  beside, 
Carew  'd  told  un  to  fetch  the  Skylark  lad  from 
Court  as  soon  as  un  'd  finished  here. 

JONSON.     Then  we  may  trap  him. 

SHAKESPEARE.  I  fear  me  now  the  boy  will  come 
to  harm. 

JONSON.     The  rascal  means  no  good. 

PAGE.  [Entering.]  Master  Will  Shakespeare ! 
Her  Majesty  the  Queen  will  see  thee  in  her  garden. 
Follow  me.  [Trumpet  zvithout.] 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK  125 

JONSON.     We  '11  search  the  town  until  we  find 
the  maid. 

SHAKESPEARE.     And  then,  with  lad   and  lass, 
away  for  Stratford  town  I 

[Complete  darkness.  Drop  CURTAIN  at  once 
descends  for  the  next  scene.  No  pause  for 
curtain,  however.] 


SCENE  2 

[A  dungeon  corridor  In  Newgate  prison.  Rough, 
flagstone  floor,  or  simply  rushes,  strewn 
thickly.  All  is  painted  upon  a  drop-curtain, 
so  that  there  is  no  interruption  of  the  action 
from  the  previous  scene;  but  there  are  prac 
tical  barred  openings  m  the  cell  doors.  At  the 
extreme  right  is  a  heavy  outer  door  at  right  an 
gles,  front,  to  the  drop-curtain,  and  this  door 
swings  inward.  At  the  cell  to  the  extreme 
left  is  a  prisoner  within,  who  is  later  visible. 
Next  to  this  is  CAREW'S  cell.  Black  backing  for 
the  cells. 

Sounds  of  quarreling,  people  movmg  restlessly 
about,  murmurs,  groans,  and  clanking  of  chains. 
Knocking  at  outer  door. 

The  complete  darkness  which  closed  the  preced- 


126  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  IV 

ing  scene  persists,  until  a  guard  enters,  left,  with 
a  torch,  changing  it  to  a  dim  light.  He  sticks 
the  torch  into  a  bracket  on  the  watt.'] 

GUARD.  [Gruffly.]  Hullo!  What,  ho!  Who 
calls  ? 

VOICE.  [Without.]  A  visitor  for  Carew. 
Admit  us  —  here  's  a  permit. 

GUARD.  [Unlocks  door.  EnterHmwoovwith 
NICK.]  Advance!  [Looks  at  paper  which  HEY- 
WOOD  gives  him.]  Gaston  Carew  the  player? 

HEYWOOD.  Faugh !  'T  is  dark  and  foul  as  a 
pestilence.  No  windows  here,  save  yon  barred 
breathing-hole.  [Looking  up  to  the  left.] 

A  PRISONER.  [Appearing  at  bars,  scream 
ing.]  God  curse  ye!  God  curse  ye  all  there! 

HEYWOOD.  Be  not  afraid,  my  lad.  None  can 
harm  you  here. 

GUARD.  The  permit  says  but  one.  It  was  a 
boy  he  said  would  come,  so  just  the  boy  comes  in. 

HEYWOOD.     Nay,  I  must  stay  here,  too. 

GUARD.  Must?  I  am  the  only  one  who  dare 
say  "  must "  in  Newgate.  Out  with  thee ;  but  a 
shilling  first  for  the  boy.  [HEYWOOD  hands  him 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK  127 

a  shilling;  then  is  led  ungently  to  the  door,  which 
shuts  upon  him  with  a  bang.  As  the  guard  locks 
it,  sounds  of  ribald  singing  are  heard,  the  dragging 
of  chains  again,  and  quarreling.] 

PRISONER.  [Visible  again,  moaning.]  Cesare 
el  Moro !  Cesare  el  Moro !  To  hang  on  Tyburn. 
God !  I  '11  hang  in  hell  forever*!  [Screaming.] 
I  '11  hang  in  hell  for  ye  all,  I  say,  God  curse  ye  t 

GUARD.  [Savagely.]  Peace,  thou  murdering 
Spaniard,  or  I  '11  cu.t  thy  throat !  [Approaching 
the  next  cell  door,  he  rattles  the  bars  and  chains, 
roughly  shoufing:]  Here,  wake  up,  within  there! 
[CAREW  appears,  ironed  hand  and  foot,  with  hag 
gard  fac'e.]  A  shilling's  worth,  ye  mind,  and  not 
another  wink.  [He  retires  to  outer  door.] 

CAREW.  And  thou  hast  truly  come,  to  say 
farewell  to  him  thou  hatest  so? —  To  reach  the 
courts  of  glory  and  the  Queen's  bright  grace,  and 
yet  come  here  to  ill-starred  twilight  and  to  me !  — 
Ai,  lad,  I  would  thou  wert  mine  own,  own  son ;  yet 
Heaven  spare  thee  father  such  as  I !  —  But,  Nick, 
thou  wilt  not  hate  me  any  more.  'Twill  not  be 
worth  thy  while ;  the  night  is  coming  fast. 

NICK.  Why,  sir,  't  will  soon  be  day  again ;  and 
thou  *lt  again  be  out. 


128  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  IV 

CAREW.  Out?  Aye,  on  Tyburn  gallows. — 
I  have  taken  my  last  cue ;  the  play  is  nearly  out, 
and  the  people  will  be  going  home.  It  has  been 
a  wild  play,  Nick,  and  ill-played. 

GUARD.  [Gruffly.]  Here,  if  ye  've  anything 
to  say,  be  saying  it.  'T  is  a  shilling's  worth,  ye 
mind. 

CAREW.  [Lifting  up  his  head  in  the  old 
haughty  way,  he  claps  his  hand  to  his  hip  for  his 
poniard.  It  is  no  longer  there.  He  wipes  his 
hand  hurriedly  upon  his  jerkin;  then  hangs  his 
head  dejectedly,  and  a  shudder  passes  over  him.] 
Ah-h ;  —  I  had  forgot ! 

NICK.     Ye  sent  for  me,  sir. 

CAREW.  Yes,  yes ;  I  sent  for  thee.  I  have 
something  to  tell  thee,  Nick. —  Thou  'It  deal 
fairly  with  my  Cicely  ?  Aye,  surely ;  yes.  I  trust 
thee,  Nick. —  There  's  money,  much  good  gold. 
[At  sudden  clank  of  chains  in  the  next  cell,  CAREW 
turns  quickly  around.]  Tsst!  What's  that?  — 
'T  is  my  sick  fancy. —  Well,  then. —  [More 
softly.]  Hark  'e  —  thou  knowest  the  old  oak 
wainscot  in  the  dining-hall,  and  the  carven  panel 
by  the  Spanish  chest?  [NICK  nods.]  Good, 
then.  Upon  the  panel  is  a  cherub,  and  —  tsst! 
what 's  that,  I  say  ? 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK  129 

NICK.  I  know  not,  sir ;  I  think  some  one  is  lis 
tening  there. 

CAREW.  [Moving  a  -few  feet  with  difficulty,  his 
own  being  two  of  them.]  I  say  [whispers'],  upon 
the  panel  there  — 

PRISONER.  [Abandoning  his  listening  posture, 
and  shouting.]  Yah,  yah,  yah!  thou  gallows' 
bird! 

CAREW.  Peace,  thou  dog!  Thou  Spanish  in 
fidel! 

PRISONER.  Curse  thee,  curse  thee !  Thou  'rt 
damned  as  black  as  hell. 

CAREW.  Be  quiet,  thou  cut-throat !  —  I  dare 
not  let  him  hear.  [Guard  approaches.]  The 
very  walls  of  Newgate  leak. 

PRISONER.  Yah,  yah,  yah;  God  curse  ye 
doubly  black. 

CAREW.     Yet  I  must  tell  thee,  Nick  — 
GUARD.     Don't  be  all  night. 

CAREW. —  Or  stay !  Would  Will  Shakespeare 
come  ?  Why,  here,  I  '11  send  him  word. 

NICK.  I  '11  tell  him,  sir.  He  's  promised  me  to 
take  me  home  to  Stratford. 


130  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  IV 

CAREW.  God  bless  him,  now,  for  that.  — 
He  '11  come  ;  —  Will  Shakespeare  never  bore  a 
grudge;  and  I  shall  so  soon  go  where  are  no 
grudges,  envy,  storms,  nor  noise,  but  silence  and 
the  soft  lap  of  everlasting  sleep.  [Huskily  .] 
Nick,  last  night  I  dreamed  I  heard  thee  singing; 
but  't  was  where  green  fields  and  murmuring 
streams  went  circling  round  a  little  town;  there 
was  a  rustic  cottage  —  methought  't  was  Strat 
ford,  Nick.  'T  was  there  I  heard  thee  sing  first, 
lad.  Thou  'It  go  there  soon  again,  now  ;  and, 
Nick,  for  thine  own  mother's  sake,  do  not  alto 
gether  hate  Gaston  Carew;  he  was  not  so  bad  a 
man  as  he  might  easily  have  been. 

GUAED.  [Growling.']  Come  ;  have  done.  'T  is 
a  fat  shilling's  worth.  {Noise  of  quarreling  and 
groaning  renewed.  Guard  sharpens  his  pike  on 
a  stone,  with  a  rasping  sound.  Another  guard 
comes  into  the  corridor  from  an  unseen  door  to 
the  left,  letting  in  a  flood  of  curses,  groans,  and 
noise  as  he  does  so.  He  goes  toward  first  guard 
and  talks  with 


CAREW.  [Holding  NICK'S  hands.']  God  bless 
thee,  Nick  !  I  love  thee,  lad.  Dost  thou  not  love 
me  just  a  little?  Come,  say  thou  lovest  me. 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK  131 

NICK.  [Soberly.]  Nay,  Master  Carew;  I  do 
na  love  thee,  and  I  will  na  say  I  do,  sir;  but  I 
pity  thee  with  all  my  heart.  And,  sir,  if  thy  be 
ing  out  would  keep  me  stolen,  still  I  think  I  'd 
wish  thee  out  —  for  Cicely's  sake. —  But,  Mas 
ter  Carew,  do  na  break  my  hands. 

CAREW.  [Huskily,  releasing  NICK'S  hands.] 
I  will  not  seek  to  be  excused  to  thee.  I  've  pris 
oned  thee  as  that  clod  prisons  me;  yet,  Nick,  it 
makes  my  heart  ache  now,  that  't  was  not  I  who 
set  thee  free.  For,  truly,  lad,  I  meant  to  send 
thee  home.  I  did,  upon  my  word,  and  on  the  rem 
nant  of  mine  honor. 

1  GUARD.  [As  a  heavy  bell  begins  to  toll,  very 
slowly. ~\  Quick!  'Tis  the  signal  to  bar  the 
gates. 

CAREW.  Wilt  kiss  me,  lad? —  Thou 'It  send 
Will  Shakespeare !  And,  oh,  Nick,  thou  'It  keep 
my  Cicely  from  all  harm? 

NICK.     I  '11  do  my  best. 

1  GUARD.  I  '11  ding  thee  out  of  this.  [Raises 
heavy  bunch  of  keys  threateningly.  Pushes  him 
towards  the  door,  as  CAREW  waves  his  hand 
through  the  bars.  Then  exit  through  unseen  door 
to  the  left.] 


132       MASTER  SKYLARK    ACT  IV 

2  GUARD.  [Taking  NICK,  whose  eyes  are 
blinded  with  tears,  towards  the  heavy  outer  door.] 
Didst  come  alone? 

NICK.     Nay.     With  Master  Heywood. 

2  GUARD.  A-a.  Yon  without.  He  '11  pay  an 
other  shilling  first,  to  get  ye  back.  [Unbars  door 
and  swings  it  open.  Enter  GOOLE,  in  HEY- 
WOOD'S  cloak  and  cap.  NICK  does  not  recognize 
him  at  first,  and  going  to  him,  tear-blinded,  takes 
the  hand  he  stretches  out.  2  GUARD  stands  in 
the  doorway. ~\  Another  shilling,  sir.  'T  was 
over  time. 

GOOLE.      [Paying.]     Aye,  two;  with  thanks. 

NICK.  [Starting  back.]  Why,  where  is  Mas 
ter  Hey  wood? 

GOOLE.  He  could  na  wait  for  thee.  I  'm  sent 
to  bring  thee  back. 

NICK.  Nay ;  thou  liest,  rogue !  I  will  na  go 
with  thee. 

2  GUARD.  Get  along,  Jackanapes,  or  spend  the 
night  in  gaol. 

NICK.  But,  sir,  't  was  not  he  brought  me  here. 
There  is  some  trick.  I  fear  foul  play. —  Master 
Carew ! 


"God  bless  thee,   Nick!      I   love  thee,  lad." 


ACT  IV          MASTER  SKYLARK  133 

CAREW.  [Whose  white  face  has  been  barely 
visible  against  the  bars  of  his  cell,  sternly  to 
GOOLE,  who  shrinks  back  against  the  wall  at  his 
voice.] —  Beware,  Gregory  Goole !  Beware  1  If 
thou  doest  aught  of  ill  to  him  I  '11  put  a  spell  upon 
thee  that  will  send  thy  soul  to  hell ! 

2  GUARD.     Out  ye  go  now,  both  of  ye. 

GOOLE.  Best  come  quietly.  She  will  na  like 
thee  with  a  bloody  face. 

NICK.  She?  Who?  Thou  rogue!  Hast  thou 
got  Cicely? 

GOOLE.  Aye,  marry ;  that  I  have.  Ye  '11  each 
fetch  a  pretty  penny  by  and  by.  And  hark  'e ;  be 
less  glib  with  that  "  rogue "  of  thine,  or  I  will 
baste  thy  back. 

NICK.     I  be  na  feared  of  thee,  thou  rogue ! 

GOOLE.  [Striking  him  across  the  face.]  Thou 
little  imp ! 

CAREW.  [In  a  hissing  whisper.]  By  my  soul, 
'fore  God,  I  swear  —  [The  rest  is  unintelligible 
muttering,  and  only  his  hands  are  seen,  clutching 
the  bars.] 

NICK.  [Throwing  back  his  shoulders,  hotly.] 
Do  na  dare  to  strike  me  again,  thou  rogue ! 


134  MASTER  SKYLARK          ACT  IV 

Thou  'It  pay  dear  for  this,  when  Master  Shake 
speare  comes  for  me.  I  say  I  be  na  feared  of 
thee ;  and  if  thou  harmest  Cicely,  thou  'It  rue  it 
sorely.  [Exit,  with  GOOLE.  CAREW'S  hands 
vanish  from  the  bars.] 

GUARD.  [Swinging  the  door  upon  them.] 
Ods  bobs !  A  pretty  lad,  and  spirited. —  Two 
paltry  shillings !  I  would  I  had  the  buckle  off  his 
cloak. 

PRISONER.  [Groaning.]  'T  is  bitter  cold. 
All 's  dark  and  cold.  Curse  ye,  the  wind  is  cold, 
I  say. — 

GUARD.  [Kicking  cell  door  savagely."]  Peace, 
cur! 

[CURTAIN] 


[End  of  ACT  IV] 


ACT  V 

[SHAKESPEARE'S  garden,  at  New  Place,  Stratford. 
Five  days  later.  Early  morning;  pinkish  light. 

The  "  Great  House  "  at  back  of  stage,  with  gable 
end  i/n  the  center,  and  windows  each  side. 
Paths  to  left  and  right.  Rose-trees  and  shrub 
bery  and  a  little  arbor  in  the  foreground.  A 
table,  sheltered  under  a  tree,  with  fruit,  trays 
of  nuts  and  raisins  and  little  cakes,  silver  cups 
and  decanters  set  thereon.  A  bench  and  two 
stools  elsewhere. 

SHAKESPEARE  discovered,  partly  hidden  among 
bushes,  with  a  pair  of  pruning -shears,  trimr 
ming  the  rose-trees.  He  seems  worried  at  first, 
but  changes  to  good  cheer  when  HEYWOOD  ap 
pears. 

A  casement  m  the  gable  opens  wide,  and  HEY- 
WOOD'S  head  and  shoulders  appear.  His  head 
is  bandaged;  but  this  bandage  is  concealed  later 
when  he  reappears  with  his  hat  on.] 

SHAKESPEARE.     Good  morrow,   Master  Early- 
bird!     \Tosses  him  a  rose.]     Hast  rested  well? 
135 


136  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

HBYWOOD.  Aye,  Will. —  But  what  news 
more  ? 

SHAKESPEARE.  If  no  news  be  good  news,  Tom, 
all  is  yet  well.  [Aside.]  And  yet — [shakes  his 
head] — my  messenger  hath  not  come.  He  should 
be  here  by  sun-up,  for  he  was  to  ride  all  night. — 
How  comes  the  sun  ? 

HEYWOOD.  Just  up;  the  river  is  afire  with  it 
now.  [Sunlight  strikes  the  gable.]  'T  would  be 
a  lovely  day  indeed  if  the  Skylark  were  here  to  sing. 

SHAKESPEARE.  Take  it  not  so  to  heart  that 
thou  wast  tricked.  Thank  God,  the  dagger  struck 
not  home. — •  We  Ve  done  our  best  to  find  them, 
and  now  must  trust  to  higher  powers.  And 
truly,  Tom,  so  fair  a  morning  should  not  bring 
foul  news.  The  day  dawns  beautiful  indeed. — 
Ah!  [Stretching  himself  to  his  full  height,  and 
laughing  softly.]  It  is  the  sweetest  music  in  the 
world  —  morning,  spring,  and  God's  dear  sun 
shine;  it  bringeth  hope;  fills  full  the  soul;  starts 
kindness  brewing  in  the  heart,  like  sap  in  a  with 
ered  bud.  Thank  God  for  life ! 

HEYWOOD.  Had  the  rascal  not  struck  me  from 
behind  — 

SHAKESPEARE.  Peace,  Tom.  Think  ill  no 
more  of  him.  He  '11  reap  his  harvest  soon. — 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  137 

Thou  'dst  better  have  thy  breakfast.     'T  will  ease 
thy  brooding  mind.     Shall 't  be  sent  up  ? 

HEYWOOD.  Nay ;  I  '11  come  down.  [Exit, 
from  window.] 

[SHAKESPEARE  busy  about  the  rose-trees  again 
for  a  moment.  Then,  the  sound  of  rapid 
hoof-beats,  growing  louder.  He  listens  in 
tently  till  the  sounds  stop  just  off-stage.] 

MESSENGER.  [Entering  in  costume  of  a  post- 
rider,  horse-boots,  mud-spattered  coat,  gloves, 
spurs,  whip,  and  messenger's  leathern  budget 
swinging  on  strap  over  shoulder.]  Sir!  To  you. 

SHAKESPEARE.     Thy  news. 

MESSENGER.  They  cannot  be  in  London.  We 
have  sought  both  high  and  low. 

SHAKESPEARE.     Along  the  river  front? 

MESSENGER.  Aye.  They  were  lodged  one 
night  where  Gaston  told  thee ;  but  neither  lad  nor 
lass  hath  been  seen  since. 

SHAKESPEARE.  'T  is  passing  strange.  And  we 
have  hunted  after  them  the  whole  way  up  from 
London  town,  but  never  found  a  trace.  A  con 
stable  of  Billingsgate  brought  word  that  they  were 
seen  to  start  for  Stratford  with  a  man  of  Coven- 


138  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

try,  and  so  we  left  at  once.  We  came  straight  on 
through  Coventry,  yet  found  them  neither  there 
nor  here. 

MESSENGER.     What  says  old  Simon  Attwood? 

SHAKESPEARE.  It  seems  he  hath  disowned  the 
boy,  and  so  before  we  went  to  him  we  waited  for 
thy  word. 

JONSON.  [Entering  from  the  house.]  What 
news  ? 

SHAKESPEARE.     They  've  found  naught  yet. 
JONSON.     'T  is  ill  luck  sure. 

SHAKESPEARE.  What  sayest,  Ben?  To-mor 
row  we  '11  go  back  ourselves  to  search  until  we  find 
them. 

JONSON.  Agreed. —  But,  sirrah,  [fo  MES 
SENGER]  thy  message  in  detail. 

MESSENGER.  My  fellows  have  sought  every 
where.  It  is  not  possible  they  be  still  hid  in  Lon 
don.  But  I  have  one  sound  grain  of  comfort. 
Three  days  ago  —  the  day  before  I  left  —  Goole 
was  found  drowned,  dead,  floating  in  the  Thames 
by  Barge-house  Stairs. 

JONSON.     What  ? 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  139 

MESSENGER.  The  children  had  not  been  with 
him  for  four  days,  we  found. 

SHAKESPEARE.  Then  they  had  'scaped  from 
him  before.  That 's  sure.  They  must  be  still 
upon  the  way,  but  by  the  Warwick  road. — 
Thanks  for  thy  news,  fellow.  Thou  'st  ridden 
well.  Go  to  the  buttery,  man,  and  break  thy  fast. 
Then  I  '11  send  to  Warwick  straight. —  But, 
hold;  what  news  of  Gaston? 

MESSENGER.  I  started  two  days  since  [im 
pressively],  an  hour  before  the  crack  o'  dawn,  and 
on  my  way  past  Tyburn  Hill,  a  black  cart  passed 
me  with  a  man  in  irons  and  gyves  upon  his 
wrists. —  I  waved  my  hand.  [Raising  his  hand 
high  as  one  signals  a  friend  in  a  throng.]  "  Fare 
well,"  said  he.  "  Good  night !  " 

JONSON.     God  rest  his  soul! 

SHAKESPEARE.  Amen !  [Exit  MESSENGER,  into 
the  house.  JONSON  turns  to  the  refreshment 
table.] 

JONSON.     Where  's  Burbage  and  the  rest  ? 

SHAKESPEARE.  Gone  for  an  appetizing  walk, 
old  hurly-burly  Ben,  whilst  thou  lay  snoozing  the 
dew-gemmed  hours  away.  Art  sure  thou  'rt  yet 
awake  ? 


140  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

JONSON.  Ah,  Will,  thou  gentle,  thieving  rogue ! 
[Catching  his  hands.]  —  How  thou  stealest  one's 
heart  with  a  glance  of  thine  eye!  One  look  of 
thine  doth  warm  my  soul. —  Why,  Will,  thy  quiet 
eye  doth  sparkle  more  than  this  good  wine. —  A 
verse !  —  Hold. —  Softly  —  I  have  it  now,  en 
tire.  [Recites,  dramatically,  or  sings,  with  a,  cup 
of  wine  in  his  hand:] 

Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 

And  I  will  pledge  with  mine ; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup 

And  I  '11  not  look  for  wine. 
The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine; 
But  might  I  of  Jove's  nectar  sup, 

I  would  not  change  for  thine. 

SHAKESPEARE.  Go  sing  it  to  some  Warwick 
maid,  thou  moonlight  versifier. 

JONSON.  Be  thou  she,  then. —  Hearken  again. 
—  [Plucking  a  rose.]  I  '11  rime  of  this  to  thee. 
[As  before:] 

I  sent  thee  late  a  rosy  wreath, 

Not  so  much  honoring  thee 
As  giving  it  a  hope  that  there 

It  could  not  withered  be ; 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  141 

But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe 

And  sent'st  it  back  to  me ; 
Since  when  it  glows,  and  smells,  I  swear, 

Not  of  itself  but  thee! 

[Bows,  kissing  the  rose,  and  puts  it  in  his  breast.] 
Whatever  falls  this  day  we  '11  celebrate  thy  pur 
chase  of  this  New  Place  here,  in  revelry  most  rare. 
New  songs  shall  spring  from  every  cup, — 

SHAKESPEARE.  Nay,  but  the  children  first,  old 
friend.  Then  to  our  merriment.  '[Sound  of 
voices  up  the  path.] 

1  PLAYER.     [Entering   briskly,   with  others.] 
News,  Will!     Great  news !     [This  actor  should  be 
the  man  who  previously  has  played  GOOLE'S  part, 
for  reasons  that  will  be  apparent  later;  but  now, 
acting  as  quite  a  different  individual,  both  in  man 
ner  and  make-up.] 

2  PLAYER.     Jove,  the  best  that  was  ever  baked ! 
SHAKESPEARE.     Hast  found  them? 

1  PLAYER.     Aye,  that  we  have.     They  lodged 
o'er    night    at    Warwick,    having    trudged    from 
Coventry. 

2  PLAYER.     The  weekly  carrier  'd  fetched  them 
up  as  far  as  Coventry  by  his  wagon-train  from 
London. 


142  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

JONSON.     Where  be  they  now? 

1  PLAYER.     We  met  them  hard  by  the  Warwick 
road,  faring  across  the  fields.     We  hailed  them  in 
thy  name,  and  begged  them  come  with  us ;  but  the 
lad  would  only  stop  to  send  his  love  to  thee,  likewise 
the  little  maid,  and  flinging  us  a  promise  to  come 
to  see  thee  soon,  they  both  trudged  on. 

2  PLAYER.     'T  was  a  winsome  sight  to  see  the 
Skylark's  shining  eyes  as  he  hurried  on  towards 
Attwood's  lane,  with  the  little  maid  by  his  side. 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Enter  HEYWOOD,  limping,  with 
a  cap  upon  his  head.]  Tom,  a  good  investment 
for  thine  ears ! 

HEYWOOD.     Out  with  it,  Will. 

SHAKESPEARE.  They  're  found,  man.  They  're 
here.  They  '11  grace  our  feast  this  very  day. 

JONSON.  Merry  hearts !  What  a  feast  't  will 
be,  with  a  Skylark  for  center-piece! 

SHAKESPEARE.     We  '11  feast  on  reason  — 

JONSON.  Reason  on  the  feast;  toast  the  com 
pany  with  wit  — 

SHAKESPEARE.  And  company  the  wit  with 
toast. —  But,  look!  [Enter  NICK  and  CICELY, 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  143 

hand  in  hand.  All  move  towards  them.  SHAKE 
SPEARE  meets  them  with  out-stretched  hands.] 
Welcome,  most  welcome,  Nicholas  and  Cicely  t 

JONSON.  Lad,  thou  'rt  a  credit  to  this  old  town 
of  thine. 

HEYWOOD.  A  plucky  fellow,  I  say,  right 
plucky,  to  bring  the  lass  safe,  too. 

NICK.  [To  HEYWOOD.]  Then  Gregory  did  na 
kill  thee,  sir ! 

HEYWOOD.  Nay,  lad ;  thank  God,  he  missed  his 
aim! 

JONSON.  [To  CICELY.]  And  thou  art  Gas- 
ton's  little  daughter.  I  knew  thy  father  well. 
[Continues  to  talk  to  her.  She  tells  him  of  their 
adventures,  animatedly.] 

SHAKESPEARE.  [To  NICK.]  Thou  young 
rogue,  how  thou  hast  forestalled  us !  Why,  here 
we  have  been  weeping  for  thee  as  lost  or  stolen 
again ;  and  all  the  while  thou  wert  coming  straight 
to  thine  own  sweet  nest.  How  is  thy  beloved 
mother  ? 

NICK.  I  ha'  na  seen  my  mother,  sir.  Father 
will  na  let  me  in. 

SHAKESPEARE.     Eh !  what  ? 


144  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

JONSON.     What!  how? 

NICK.  My  father  will  na  have  me  any  more, 
sir  —  saith  I  shall  never  be  his  son  again.  Oh, 
Master  Shakespeare,  why  did  they  ever  steal  me 
away  from  home? 

HEYWOOD.     What  means  all  this? 

NICK.  He  was  working  in  the  yard,  sirs;  and 
he  —  he  said  he  was  na  father  to  stage-playing 
vagabond  rogues ;  and  closed  the  gate  upon  us 
both. 

CICELY.     He  is  a  wicked,  wicked  man. 
NICK.     He  is  my  father,  Cicely. 

CICELY.  And  thou  dost  hate  my  father  so? 
Oh,  Nick!  [To  JONSON.]  He  said  he'd  set  the 
constables  on  us  if  we  would  not  be  gone.  I  am 
too  tired  to  go  back  that  long  and  weary  way. 
[2  PLAYER  brings  up  two  stools  for  them  to  sit 
upon.~\ 

HEYWOOD.  Why,  this  is  a  sorry  tale.  Does 
the  man  not  know  thou  'rt  kept  against  thy  will? 

NICK.  He  will  na  leave  me  tell  him.  He  would 
na  even  listen. 

JONSON.  The  muckle  shrew !  Why,  I  '11  have 
this  out  with  him.  By  Jupiter,  I  '11  read  him  rea 
son  with  a  vengeance!  [Hand  on  rapier. ] 


Master  Shakespere  met  them  with  outstretched  hands. 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  145 

SHAKESPEARE.  Nay,  Ben;  a  quarrel  will  not 
serve.  This  tanner  is  a  bitter-minded,  heavy- 
handed  man ;  —  he  'd  only  throw  thee  in  a  pickling- 
vat. 

JONSON.  What  ?  Then  he  rd  never  tan  an 
other  hide. 

SHAKESPEARE.  And  would  that  serve  the  pur 
pose,  Ben?  The  cure  should  better  the  disease: 
—  the  children  must  be  thought  about. 

JONSON.  The  children?  Why,  then,  this  tan 
ner  calls  us  vagabonds.  Yet  vagabonds  are  gal 
lows-birds,  and  gallows-birds  are  ravens.  And 
ravens,  men  say,  do  foster  forlorn  children.  Let 
us  ravenous  vagabonds,  then,  take  these  children 
for  our  own  —  Will,  thou  one,  I  t'  other  —  and 
foster  them  praiseworthily. 

HEYWOOD.  Why,  here,  Ben  Jonson,  this  is  all 
.very  well  for  Will  and  thee ;  but  where  do  I  come 
in? 

OTHERS.  [Respectively.]  Or  Burbage?  — 
Or  Hemynge? —  Or  Condell? 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Smiling.']  Aye.  'T  is  a  pity 
if  we  cannot  all  stand  together  in  this  real 
play  as  well  as  in  the  make-believe.  Kind  hearts 
are  trumps  —  make  it  a  stock  company,  and  let 
us  all  be  in. 


146  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

JONSON.  Well,  Tom,  we  cannot  bar  thee  out. — 
Ye  know,  lads,  Heywood  comes  to  us,  now  that  — 
[SHAKESPEARE  checks  him,  warningly]  —  now  that 
his  contract  with  Carew  binds  him  no  more. 

OTHERS.  Why,  good !  Good,  Tom !  —  Good, 
I  say. —  Hurrah! 

1  PLAYER.     With  Will  and  Ben  for  meat  and 
crust,  Tom  Heywood  for  the  sauce,  and  us  for 
seasoning,  the  Court  shall  say  it  never  ate  such 
master-pie. 

2  PLAYER.     We  '11  make  the  halls  of  Whitehall 
ring,  come  New  Year  next,  or  Twelfth  Night. 

3  PLAYER.     Aye,   that  we  will,   old   gossip. — 
Here  's  to  th'  immortal  three,  the  Queen's  bright 
triad  of  stars!     [All  seize  cups  of  wine.~\ 

1  PLAYER.     Here  's  to  the  company  all ! 

2  PLAYER.     And   a   health   to   our   new   Lord 
Chamberlain ! 

3  PLAYER.     A  toast  to  the  twinkling  trio ! 
HEYWOOD.     And  here  's  to  lad  and  lass ! 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Most  solemnly  and  slowly.] 
To  Gaston  Carew!  [One  or  two  cross  themselves 
quickly,  while  lifting  their  glasses;  some  bow  their 


ACT  V  MASTEK  SKYLARK  147 

heads.  There  is  a  sudden  hush.  Then,  brightly, 
but  with  deep  feelmg  still:] 

JONSON.  And  then  —  God  save  the  Queen ! 
[All  drink.]  —  Come,  a  new  trio,  Will.  [Join 
ing  hands  with  HEY  WOOD  and  SHAKESPEARE, 
sings :] 

Three  merry  men,  and  three  merry  men, 

And  three  merry  men  be  we 
As  e'er  did  sing  on  a  day  in  Spring 

Beneath  a  Stratford  tree ! 

[Laughter,  as  he  comically  dances  at  the  finish, 
and  cries  of  "  Bravo,  Ben!  —  Well  done!  — 
Bravo!  —  To  't  again! "  But  JONSON  only 
smiles  and  shakes  his  head,  "  Nay,"  still  holding 
SHAKESPEARE  by  the  arm,  and  releasing  HEYWOOD, 
addresses  the  former:]  —  Seriously,  Will,  be 
sides  his  song,  the  lad  will  make  a  better  Rosalind 
than  Roger  Prynne,  for  thy  new  play. 

SHAKESPEARE.  So  he  would.  But  before  we 
put  him  into  "  As  You  Like  It,"  suppose  we  ask 
him  how  he  would  like  it. —  Nick,  thou  hast 
heard  what  all  these  gentlemen  have  said  —  what 
hast  thou  to  say,  my  lad? 

NICK.  Why,  sirs,  ye  are  all  very  kind, —  very 
kind  indeed,  sirs;  but  —  I  —  I  just  want  to  go 


148  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

home,  sirs ;  —  oh,  masters,  I  do  want  to  see  my 
mother ! 

[SHAKESPEARE  draws  NICK  to  him  comfortingly. 
As  he  does  so,  HEYWOOD  slips  out  by  the 
path,  making  a  significant  gesture.] 

SHAKESPEARE.  Come,  lad,  we  '11  take  thee  home 
now  soon.  All  will  be  well,  in  time ;  in  God's  good 
time. —  Come,  tell  us,  Nick,  how  fared  ye  in  thy 
wanderings  ? 

NICK.  [As  the  others  gather  round J\  Why, 
sirs,  't  were  not  so  much  to  tell.  Only  — 

CICELY.  Only  Nick  was  most  brave  and  kind 
through  all.  He  was  a  very  prince. 

JONSON.  Good,  sweetheart !  And  thou  the 
princess  then. 

NICK.  Gregory  kept  us  locked  up  in  a  horrible 
place,  by  the  river  bank,  where  all  was  dirty  alley 
ways  and  wharf-sheds  strewn  with  bits  of  fish,  and 
people  past  description  —  cold,  hard,  cruel  folk. 

CICELY.  I  canna  bear  to  think  of  them ! 
[Shudders,  shrinking  close  to  JONSON,  who  puts 
his  arm  around  her  protectingly,  smiling  in  his 
big  way.~\ 

SHAKESPEARE.     But  how  did  ye  escape? 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  149 

NICK.  'T  was  this  way,  sir. —  He  took  us  out 
next  morning,  bound,  he  said,  to  flee  away  to 
France ;  but  on  the  way  —  well  —  on  the  way  — 
I  —  that  is  —  we  — 

JONSON.  [Heartily,  laughing,  yet  admiringly.] 
Eh!  catch  his  blush?  The  lad's  too  modest  to 
tell  his  own  brave  deeds. —  What  say'st,  lads  — 
we  '11  act  it  out  for  him.  'T  will  make  right  stir 
ring  action ;  —  this  garden  for  the  stage,  the 
nodding  flowers  all  about,  an  audience  sweet  to 
our  impromptu  play. — Diccon  Burbage,  thou 
famous  crook-backed  Richard,  thou  'It  be  the  vil 
lain,  Goole.  I  will  represent  the  carrier.  Thou 
art  the  prompter,  Will.  [He  briskly  indicates 
their  places,  while  SHAKESPEARE  beckons  NICK  to 
him,  who  nods  and  whispers  rapidly.]  And  the 
rest  of  ye,  the  throngs  upon  the  street.  So !  Art 
ready  all?  Now,  lad  and  lass,  remember  Gregory 
Goole  there  hath  kidnapped  both  of  ye,  and  is 
a-spiriting  ye  off  to  France. 

CICELY.  [Dancing  around.]  Aye,  that  we 
will.  [As  NICK  whispers  to  SHAKESPEARE  again.] 
'T  will  be  a  very  play  ! 

1  PLAYER  [as  GOOLE].  [Since  this  actor  is  the 
one  who  has  played  the  part  of  GOOLE  in  the  pre 
ceding  acts,  the  similitude  is  startlmgly  apparent 


150  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

now  that  Tie  has  resumed  his  former  make-up  and 
manner.  As  he  finishes  tying  a  bit  of  ribbon 
round  one  ear,  after  the  manner  of  GOOLE:] 
"  Take  the  other  hand  of  her,  thou  jackanapes 
[dragging  CICELY  by  the  hand],  and  fetch  a  bet 
ter  pace  than  this  —  I  '11  not  be  followed  again." 

CICELY.  "  Oh,  Gregory,  go  slow ! "  [Half 
panting.  Half  laughing.] 

JONSON.  The  cue,  Will,  the  cue !  [NicK  whis 
pers  to  JONSON.]  —  Aye, —  Come  here,  ye 
idle  passing  throng !  —  Now :  —  "  What  there, 
Tom  Webster,  I  say,  seest  yonder  sweet  princess  ?  " 

2  PLAYER.  "  My  faith,  Jem  Armstrong,  't  is 
the  truth  —  for  once  in  thy  life.  [Staring  at 
CICELY.]  Her  face  be  as  fair  as  a  K  in  a  copy 
book.  Hey,  bullies,  what  ?  Let 's  make  her  our 
Holiday  Queen." 

OTHER     PLAYERS.     "A  Queen?" —     "What 

queen  ?  " —  "  Where  is  a  queen  ?  " —  "  I 
granny,  Tom  Webster  hath  catched  a  queen !  " — 

"  Where  is  she,  Tom  ?  " —  "  Up  with  her,  mate, 
and  let  a  fellow  see." 

1   PLAYER.      [Snarling.]  "  Hands   off  there." 

JONSON.     "  Up  with  her,  then.     A  queen  it  is." 

1  PLAYER.  "  Stand  back,  and  let  us  pass. — 
Stand  back,  ye  apprenticed  rogues." 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  151 

2  PLAYER.     "Rogues?     Rogues!     Who    calls 
us  apprentices  and  rogues?" 

3  PLAYER,     "  Crack  me  his  crown,  Martin  Alls- 
ton." 

1  PLAYER.  [Faltering.]  "  Good  masters,  I 
meant  ye  no  offense.  I  prythee,  do  not  keep  a 
father  and  his  children  from  their  dying  mother's 
bed." 

JONSON.  "  Nay  —  is  that  so  ?  Here,  lads, 
give  way  —  their  mother  be  a-dying." 

1  PLAYER.      [As  others  fall  back.]     "Ah,  sirs,, 
she  '11  thank  ye  with  her  dying  breath. —     Get  on, 
thou  knave."     [To  NICK.] 

CICELY.  [To  SHAKESPEARE.]  Oh,  't  is  very 
like  the  truth !  —  Now,  Nick ! 

NICK.  "  The  fellow  lieth !  My  mother  is  in 
Stratford  town ;  and  Cicely's  mother  is  dead." 

1  PLAYER.  "  Thou  whelp !  [As  if  to  strike 
him.]  I  '11  teach  thee  to  hold  thy  tongue." 

JONSON.  "  Oh,  no,  ye  won't.  [Thrusting 
him  away  roughly.]  Dost  take  me?  —  say?  — 
Now,  Jacky  Sprat,  what 's  all  the  coil  about  ? 
Hath  this  sweet  fellow  kidnapped  thee?  " 


MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V- 

NICK.  "  Nay,  sir,  not  me,  but  Cicely ;  and  do 
na  leave  him  take  her,  sir,  for  he  treats  her  very 
ill." 

CICELY.  [Shivering.]  Oh,  't  is  much  too 
true! 

1  PLAYER.  [Sneering. ~\  "  The  little  rascal 
lies.  I  am  her  legal  guardian." 

JONSON.  "  What !  How?  Thou  wast  her  fa 
ther  but  a  moment  since  !  " 

SHAKESPEARE.  [As  one  of  the  crowd.]  Nay; 
her  father's  dearest  friend,  he  said. 

1  PLAYER.  "  Aye ;  her  father's  dearest  friend, 
I  said  —  he  gave  her  in  my  charge." 

CICELY.  [With  spirit.]  "  My  father's  friend! 
Thou?  His  common  groom!  Why,  he  would  not 
give  my  little  finger  in  thy  charge." 

SHAKESPEARE.     He  is  the  wiser  daddy,  then. 

JONSON.  [Laughing.]  "Most  true!  Why, 
the  fellow  hath  a  T  for  Tyburn  writ  upon  his 
face." 

1  PLAYER.  "Stand  off.  Thou 'It  pay  the 
piper  dear  for  this.  The  knave  is  a  lying  vaga 
bond,  and  a  thief  as  well." 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  153 

CICELY.  "  Why,  fie,  for  shame !  [Stamping 
her  foot.]  Nick  doth  not  steal,  and  thou  knowest 
it,  Gregory  Goole.  It  is  thou  who  hast  stolen  my 
pretty  clothes,  and  the  wine  from  my  father's 
house." 

SHAKESPEARE.     Good,  sweetheart. 

JONSON.  [Eying  1  PLAYER  sharply.]  "  So 
the  rascal  hath  stolen  other  things  than  thee?  I 
thought  that  yellow  bow  of  his  was  tied  tremendous 
high.  Why,  mates,  the  dog  is  a  branded  rogue  — 
that  ribbon  is  tied  through  the  hole  in  his  ear. 
[  JONSON  pursues  1  PLAYER.]  Hi!"  [The  ac 
tor  of  GOOLE  then  stops,  laughing,  and,  pullmg  the 
bit  of  ribbon  from  his  ear,  otherwise  transforms 
himself  into  one  of  the  throng.] 

JONSON.  [Returning,  as  himself,  puffing.] 
Good,  lads,  good ! 

SHAKESPEARE.     'T  is  well  acted,  all. 

CICELY.  Wait,  sirs.  I  '11  dance  the  coranto 
as  we  danced  it  on  our  way. —  Nick,  call  "  Sa- 
sa !  "  and  give  me  the  time  of  the  coup  d'archet? 

NICK.  Aye ;  then,  't  is  off ;  't  is  off !  [Snapping 
his  fingers  in  time  to  the  lilt  of  a  lively  tune  he 
hums.  She  dances,  a  quaint  running  step,  for 
ward  and  back  across  the  grass,  balancing  archly, 


154  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

with  her  hands  upon  her  hips  and  a  little  smile 
upon  her  lips,  in  the  swaying  motion  of  the  coupee, 
courtesying  gracefully  several  times,  and  then 
bowing  breathlessly  at  the  end.} 

JONSON.  Why,  Will,  't  is  fairy-like  —  she  does 
not  even  touch  the  ground. 

CICELY.  [Running  to  NICK.]  Was  it  all 
right,  Nick? 

NICK.  [Taking  her  hands.}  Right?  'T  was 
better  than  thou  didst  ever  dance  before. 

CICELY.  [With  a  quick  light  in  her  eyes.} 
For  why?  for  why?  —  because  this  time  I  danced 
for  thee ! 

[Enter  SIMON  ATTWOOD,  up  the  path.  HEY- 
WOOD  appears  a  moment  later  behind  him, 
but  stands  unobtrusively  in  the  background 
with  the  other  players. —  CICELY  clings  to 
NICK'S  arm.  SHAKESPEARE  crosses  over  to 
wards  SIMON,  who  slowly  comes  into  the  cen 
ter.  NICK  stands  half-startled,  half-eager, 
watching  his  father.} 

ATTWOOD.  [Hoarsely.}  Master  Shakespeare, 
I  ha'  come  about  a  matter  —  [Stops.} 

SHAKESPEARE.  In  truth,  there  is  much  the  mat 
ter. 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  155 

ATTWOOD.     I  ha'  summat  to  say  to  thee. 

SHAKESPEARE.  There  is  much  here  needs  be 
said. 

JONSON.     Out  with  it,  then. 

ATTWOOD.  [Looking  around  slowly.]  There  's 
naught  that  I  can  say,  but  that  I  be  sorry,  and  I 
want  my  son. —  Nick !  Nick !  [falters  brokenly] 
I  be  wrung  for  thee ;  will  ye  na  come  home  —  just 
for  thy  mother's  sake,  Nick,  if  na  for  mine? 

NICK.  [Starting  up  with  a  glad  cry.]  Fa 
ther!-  [Seeing  CICELY  at  his  side,  he  stops.] 
But  Cicely? 

ATTWOOD.  [Wringing  his  hat  within  his  hands 
—  then  stoutly.]  Bring  her  along.  I  ha'  little 
enow ;  but  we  '11  make  out,  lad,  we  '11  make  out. 
[Holding  out  his  hands.]  Wilt  come,  lad? 

NICK.  [Walking  over  to  him,  blindly.]  Oh, 
Father ! 

[SIMON  ATTWOOD  holds  him  closely  and  caress 
ingly.  SHAKESPEARE,  with  his  arm  about 
CICELY,  turns  and  makes  a  sign  to  JONSON. 
JONSON  nods,  and  goes  into  the  house,  reap- 
pearing  instantly  with  two  bags  of  bright 
yellow  buckskin,  which  he  holds  behind  his 
back.] 


156  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

ATTWOOD.  [As  NICK  looks  up  into  his  face, 
curiously.]  Well,  lad,  what  be  it? 

NICK.  [Smiling.]  Nothing,  only  Mother  will 
be  glad  to  have  Cicely,  won't  she? 

SHAKESPEARE.  I  have  a  little  story  to  tell  ye 
all.  [All  surprised,  except  JONSON,  who  smiles 
knowingly.  J — When  I  went  to  Gaston  Carew 
seeking  news  of  the  missing  boy,  he  made  known  to 
me  a  secret  panel  in  the  wainscot  of  his  house, 
wherein  was  hidden  all  he  had  on  earth  to  leave  to 
those  he  loved  the  best,  and  who,  he  hoped,  loved 
him. 

CICELY.  [Aside  to  SHAKESPEARE.]  Every 
body  loves  my  father. 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Putting  his  hand  for  a  mo 
ment  gently  on  her  head.]  He  sent  his  love  for 
ever  to  his  only  daughter  Cicely  [CICELY  nods 
and  smiles],  and  then  he  said  he  trusted  me  to  see 
this  little  fortune  safe  bestowed.  [Slowly.] 
This  done,  we  parted.  [Pauses.]  Within  the 
wall,  as  he  had  said,  we  found  these  bags  [takes 
them  from  JONSON],  one  marked  "  For  my  beloved 
daughter  Cicely,"  and  the  other,  "  For  Nicholas 
Attwood."  [Turns  to  ATTWOOD,  smiling  geni 
ally.]  Four  hundred  fifty  gold  rose-nobles. 
Neighbor  Attwood,  we  shall  have  no  paupers  here ! 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  157 

[Clapping  of  hands,  as  he  places  the  bags  in 
SIMON'S  hands.]  And  what  is  more,  I  '11  need  a 
tenant  for  this  Place  while  I  'm  away  at  London. 
What  say  you,  Attwood?  Wilt  be  my  man? 

CICELY.  [Going  to  NICK,  quickly.]  Now  I 
can  stay  with  thee  till  Daddy  comes,  and  be  thine 
own  sister  forever. 

ATTWOOD.  [Brokenly.]  Why,  sir  —  why,  sirs, 
all  of  ye  —  I  ha'  been  a  hard  man,  and  sum- 
mat  of  a  fool,  sirs.  I  ha'  misthought  and  mis 
called  ye  play-actors  many  and  many  a  time ;  but, 
God  knoweth  well,  I  be  sorry  for  it  from  the  bot 
tom  o'  my  heart.  [Hangs  his  head] 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Crossing,  and  putting  his  hand 
on  the  tanner's  shoulder]  Nay,  Simon  Attwood, 
thou  hast  only  been  mistaken,  that  is  all.  And  to 
see  thyself  mistaken  is  but  to  be  the  wiser.  Why, 
never  the  wisest  man  but  saw  himself  a  fool  a  thou 
sand  times. 

JONSON.  Come,  Neighbor  Attwood,  sit  thee  up 
and  eat  with  us. 

ATTWOOD.  I  thank  ye,  sirs.  Ye  ha'  all  been 
good  to  my  boy.  But,  masters,  I  '11  go  home  to 
my  wife.  There  be  things  to  say  before  my  boy 
comes  home;  and  I  ha'  muckle  need  to  tell  her 


158  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

that  I  love  her  —  I  ha'  na  done  so  these  many 
years. 

JONSON.  Why,  Will,  't  is  altogether  like  a  Mid 
summer  Night's  Dream. 

SHAKESPEARE.  Aye,  Ben ;  and  't  is  a  good 
place  to  end,  where  all  ends  well. —  Come,  Neigh 
bor,  do  not  go  at  least  until  thou  drinkest  one  good 
toast  with  us,  for  we  are  all  good  friends  and  true 
from  this  day  forth. —  Come,  Ben,  a  toast  to  fit 
the  cue. 

JONSON.  Why,  then, —  here 's  to  all  kind 
hearts ! 

SHAKESPEARE.  Wherever  they  may  be !  — 
'T  is  a  good  toast,  and  we  will  drink  it  all  to 
gether. 

JONSON.  [Going  over  to  NICK,  as  SHAKE 
SPEARE  pours  out  the  glasses.]  Nick,  my  lad, 
sing  some  words  for  me?  [Whispers  some  words 
to  him.] 

OTHERS.  [Calling.']  Master  Skylark! —  Yes, 
the  Skylark !  —  Sing  for  us  now. 

SHAKESPEARE.     Yes,  Nicholas! 
CICELY.     Aye,  Nick ! 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  159 

NICK.      [Sings  :~\ 

Then  here  's  a  health  to  all  kind  hearts 

Wherever  they  may  be ; 
For  kindly  hearts  make  but  one  kin 

Of  all  humanity. 

And  here  's  a  rouse  to  all  kind  hearts 

Wherever  they  be  found; 
For  't  is  the  throb  of  kindred  hearts 

Doth  make  the  world  go  round. 

[As  all  raise  their  glasses,  NICK  having  now 
stepped  behind  the  others  —  enter  MARGARET 
ATTWOOD,  hurriedly,  by  the  path.] 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  Your  pardon,  kind  sirs, 
but  Anne  .Shakespeare  hath  said  —  Why,  Simon, 
what  hath  come  over  thee  ?  What  hath  happened  ? 

ATTWOOD.  Naught,  lass,  but  that  our  lad  is 
coming  home,  and  that  I  love  thee.  Is  it  too  late 
to  tell  thee  so? 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  Nay,  Simon,  't  is  never 
too  late  to  mend.  But  [£wrris]  — oh,  Nick! 

NICK.  [Running  to  her  arms.]  Mother!  Oh, 
Mother  dear ! 

CICELY.  [Going  affectionately  to  ATTWOOD, 
who  holds  out  his  arms  pleadingly  to  her.]  Oh, 


160  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

she  will  be  my  mother,  too !     And  thou  my  foster 
daddy ! 

MARGARET   ATTWOOD.     My   boy,    my    boy !  — 
ray  little  boy ! 


[CURTAIN] 


[End  of  ACT  V] 


ALTERNATIVE  FIFTH  ACT. 

Abbreviated  to  one  half  the  original  version. 


ACT  V 

[SHAKESPEARE'S  garden,  at  New  Place,  Stratford. 
Five  days  later.  Early  morning;  pinkish  light. 

The  "  Great  House  "at  back  of  stage,  with  gable 
end  in  the  center,  and  windows  each  side.  Paths 
to  left  and  right.  Rose-trees  and  shrubbery 
and  a  little  arbor  in  the  foreground.  A  table, 
sheltered  under  a  tree,  with  fruit,  trays  of  nuts 
and  raisins  and  little  cakes,  silver  cups  and  de 
canters  set  thereon.  A  bench  and  two  stools 
elsewhere. 

SHAKESPEARE  discovered,  partly  hidden  among  the 
bushes,  with  a  pair  of  pruning -shears,  trimming 
the  rose-trees. 

A  casement  m  the  gable  opens  wide,  and  HEY- 
WOOD'S  head  and  shoulders  appear.  His  head  is 
bandaged;  but  this  bandage  is  concealed  later 
when  he  puts  his  hat  on.] 

SHAKESPEARE.     Good  morrow,   Master  Early- 
bird!     {Tosses  him  a  rose.]     Hast  rested  well? 
163 


164  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

HEYWOOD.  Aye,  Will.  [Sunlight  strikes  the 
gable.']  'T  would  be  a  lovely  day  if  the  Skylark 
were  here  to  sing. 

SHAKESPEARE.  Yet,  truly,  Tom,  so  fair  a  morn 
ing  cannot  bring  foul  news. —  Ah !  [Stretching 
himself  to  his  full  height  and  laughing  softly.]  It 
is  the  sweetest  music  in  the  world  —  morning, 
spring,  and  God's  dear  sunshine ;  it  bringeth  hope, 
fills  full  the  soul,  starts  kindness  brewing  in  the 
heart,  like  sap  in  a  withered  bud.  Thank  God  for 
life! 

JONSON.  [Entering  from  the  house.]  What 
news,  Will,  from  thy  daybreak  messenger? 

SHAKESPEARE.  There 's  naught  found  yet. 
But  he  reporteth  they  cannot  be  in  London,  for 
Jt  is  sure  they  left  with  the  carrier  for  Coven 
try  the  day  before  Goole  was  found  drowned  in  the 
Thames  by  Barge-house  Stairs. 

JONSON.  So !  —  Where 's  Burbage  and  the 
rest? 

SHAKESPEARE.  Gone  for  an  appetizing  walk, 
old  hurly-burly  Ben,  whilst  thou  lay  snoozing  the 
dew-gemmed  hours  away.  Art  sure  thou  'rt  yet 
awake  ? 

JONSON.  Ah,  Will,  thou  gentle  rogue! 
[Catching  his  hands.]  How  thou  stealest  one's 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  165 

heart  with  the  glance  of  thine  eye  I     One  look  of 
thine  doth  warm  the  soul. 

HEYWOOD.  [As  the  sound  of  voices  comes  up 
the  path.]  Here  's  Burbage  and  the  rest. 

1  PLAYER.      [Entering   briskly,   with   others.] 
News,  Will !     Great  news  I 

2  PLAYER.     Jove !  the  best  that  was  ever  baked. 
SHAKESPEARE.     Hast  found  them? 

1  PLAYER.     Aye,  that  we  have.     They  're  here ! 
They    lodged    o'er    night    at    Warwick,    having 
trudged  from  Coventry. 

2  PLAYER.     The  weekly  carrier  fetched  them  to 
Coventry  on  yester-noon. 

JONSON.     Where  be  they  now? 

1  PLAYER.  Hard  by  the  lane  to  Simon  Att- 
wood's. —  The  lad  sent  thee  his  love  and  will 
come  soon,  he  saith,  to  see  thee  here. 

SHAKESPEARE.  I  warrant  ye. —  'T  is  good  we 
kept  our  former  news  from  Margaret  Attwood 
now. 

HEYWOOD.  [JFTio  has  just  disappeared  from 
the  window,  to  reappear  now,  among  the  others.] 
Hey !  what  a  feast  we  '11  have ! 


166  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

JONSON.  Why,  Will,  we  '11  doubly  celebrate  thy 
purchase  of  this  New  Place  here.  'T  will  be  rev 
elry  most  rare. 

SHAKESPEARE.  But  look!  [Enter  NICK  and 
CICELY,  hand  in  hand.~\  The  children!  [All 
move  towards  them.  SHAKESPEARE  meets  them 
with  outstretched  hands.]  Welcome,  most  wel 
come,  Nicholas  and  Cicely. 

JONSON.  Lad,  thou  'rt  a  credit  to  this  old 
town  of  thine. 

HEYWOOD.  A  plucky  fellow,  Nick,  I  say,  right 
plucky  to  bring  the  lass  safe  too. 

NICK.  [To  HEYWOOD.]  Then  Gregory  did  na 
kill  thee,  sir  ? 

HEYWOOD.  Nay,  lad ;  thank  God,  he  missed  his 
aim. 

JONSON.  [To  CICELY.]  And  thou  art  Gas- 
ton's  little  daughter.  Why,  lass,  I  knew  thy 
father  well. 

SHAKESPEARE.  [To  NICK.]  Thou  young 
rogue,  how  thou  hast  forestalled  us !  Why,  here 
we  have  been  weeping  for  thee  as  lost  or  stolen 
again ;  and  all  the  while  thou  wert  coming  straight 
to  thine  own  sweet  nest.  How  is  thy  beloved 
mother? 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  167 

NICK.  I  ha'  na  seen  my  mother,  sir.  Father 
will  na  let  me  in. 

SHAKESPEARE.     Eh;  what? 

NICK.  He  was  working  in  the  yard,  and  he  — 
he  said  he  was  na  father  to  stage-playing,  vaga 
bond  rogues ;  and  closed  the  gate  upon  us  both. 

CICELY.     He  is  a  wicked,  wicked  man ! 
NICK.     He  is  my  father,  Cicely. 

CICELY.  And  thou  dost  hate  my  father  so? 
Oh,  Nick! —  [To  JONSON.]  He  said  he'd  set 
the  constables  on  us  if  we  would  not  be  gone ! 

[2  PLAYER  brings  up  two  stools  for  them  to  sit 
upon,~\ 

HEYWOOD.  Why,  this  is  a  sorry  tale.  Doth 
he  not  know  thou  'rt  kept  against  thy  will  ? 

NICK.  He  will  na  leave  me  tell  him.  He 
would  na  even  listen.  He  saith  I  '11  never  be  his 
son  again. 

JONSON.  The  muckle  shrew !  Why,  thou  hadst 
best  disown  him !  —  We  '11  read  him  reason  with 
a  vengeance. —  What  say'st,  Will?  We  '11  take 
the  children  for  our  own  —  thou  one,  I  t'  other  — 
and  by  praiseworthy  fostering  singe  this  sullen 
fellow's  very  brain  with  shame. 


168  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

HEYWOOD.  Why,  here,  Ben  Jonson,  wait. 
Pray,  where  do  I  come  in? 

OTHERS.  [Respectively.]  Or  I? —  Or  I?  — 
Don't  leave  us  out. 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Smiling.]  Aye.  'T  is  a  pity 
if  we  cannot  all  stand  together  in  this  real  play  as 
well  as  in  the  make-believe. —  Kind  hearts  are 
trumps  —  make  it  a  stock  company,  and  let  us  all 
be  in. 

JONSON.  Well,  Tom,  we  cannot  bar  thee  out. — 
Ye  know,  lads,  Heywood  comes  to  us,  now  that  — 
[SHAKESPEARE  checks  him,  warningly]  —  now  that 
his  contract  with  Carew  binds  him  no  more. 

OTHERS.     Hurrah! —     Good,  Tom! 

1  PLAYER.     With  Will  and  Ben  for  meat  and 
crust,  Tom  Heywood  for  the  sauce,  and  us  for 
seasoning,  the  Court  shall  say  it  never  ate  such 
master-pie ! 

2  PLAYER.     Here 's   a  toast  to   the  twinkling 
trio,  the  Queen's  immortal  stars ! 

3  PLAYER.     [As  all  seize  cups  of  wine.]     And  a 
health  to  our  new  Lord  Chamberlain ! 

1  PLAYER.     Here  's  to  the  company  all ! 
HEYWOOD.     And  here  's  to  lad  and  lass ! 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  169 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Most  solemnly  and  slowly.] 
To  Gaston  Carew !  [One  or  two  cross  themselves 
quickly,  while  lifting  their  glasses;  some  bow  their 
heads.  There  is  a  sudden  hu#h.  Then,  brightly, 
but  with  deep  feeling  still:] 

JONSON.  And  then  —  God  save  the  Queen ! 
[All  drink.]  —  And,  Will,  besides  his  song,  the 
lad  will  make  a  better  Rosalind  than  Roger 
Prynne,  for  thy  new  play. 

SHAKESPEARE.  So  he  would.  But  before  we 
put  him  into  "  As  You  Like  It,"  suppose  we  ask 
him  how  he  would  like  it. —  Nick,  thou  hast  heard 
what  all  these  gentlemen  have  said  —  what  hast 
thou  to  say,  my  lad? 

NICK.  Why,  sirs,  ye  are  all  very  kind  —  very 
kind  indeed;  but  —  I  —  I  just  want  to  go  home, 
sirs ;  —  oh,  masters,  I  do  want  to  see  my  mother !' 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Drawing  NICK  to  him,  com 
fortingly,  as  HEYWOOD  slips  out  by  the  path,  mak 
ing  a  significant  gesture.]  We  '11  take  thee  home 
soon.  All  will  be  well,  in  time;  in  God's  good 
time. —  But,  come,  tell  us,  Nick,  how  fared  ye 
both  with  Goole? 

NICK.  [As  the  others  gather  round.]  Why, 
sirs,  't  were  not  so  much  to  tell.  Only  — 


170  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

CICELY.  Only  Nick  was  most  brave  and  kind 
through  all  —  a  very  prince. 

JONSON.  Good,  sweetheart !  And  thou  the 
princess  then. 

NICK.  Gregory  kept  us  locked  up  in  a  horrible 
place,  by  the  river  bank,  where  all  was  dirty  alley 
ways  and  wharf-sheds,  and  people  past  descrip 
tion  —  cold,  cruel  folk. 

CICELY.  I  canna  bear  to  think  of  them ! 
[Shudders,  shrinking  close  to  JONSON,  who  puts  his 
arm  around  her  protectingly,  smiling  in  his  big 
way.~\ 

SHAKESPEARE.     And  how  did  ye  escape? 

NICK.  'T  was  this  way,  sir. —  He  took  us  out 
next  morning,  bound,  he  said,  to  flee  away  to 
France ;  but  on  the  way  we  met  a  crowd  of  'pren 
tices  out  for  a  holiday.  When  they  caught  sight 
of  Cicely  they  called  to  us  to  stop ;  said  they  must 
kiss  so  fair  a  maid. — 

JONSON.  Truly,  though  I  fain  would  have  said 
them  nay,  I  do  not  wonder  at  their  wish. 
[Laughs.]  Eh!  catch  the  blushes? 

NICK.  Then,  sirs,  said  Gregory,  "  Stand  back, 
and  let  us  pass.  Wouldst  keep  a  father  and  his 
children  from  their  dying  mother's  bed  ?  " 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  171 

CICELY.  Then  Nick  cried  out  most  manfully, 
"  The  fellow  lieth !  My  mother  is  in  Stratford 
town ;  and  Cicely's  mother  is  dead." 

NICK.  Then  Gregory  tried  to  hit  me,  but  at 
that  they  all  closed  in,  and  some  of  them  struck 
him  sorely  as  he  fled  away.  Some  others  went  with 
us  to  the  carrier's  wagon-train,  which  was  about  to 
start. 

JONSON.     Brave  little  lad  and  lass. 

CICELY.  I  let  them  kiss  my  hand,  but  first  I 
made  them  wipe  their  faces  clean. 

NICK.     She  danced  the  coranto  for  them. 

CICELY.  And  I  '11  dance  it  now  as  I  danced  for 
them,  Nick,  if  thou  wilt  call  "  Sa-sa !  "  and  give  me 
the  time  of  the  coup  d'archet. 

NICK.  Aye;  then,  't  is  off,  't  is  off!  [Snap 
ping  his  fingers  m  time  to  the  lilt  of  a  lively  tune 
he  hums.  She  dances,  a  quaint  running  step,  for 
ward  and  backward  across  the  grass,  balancing 
archly,  with  her  hands  upon  her  hips  and  a  little 
smile  upon  her  lips,  in  the  swaying  motion  of  the 
coupee,  courtesymg  gracefully  several  times,  and 
then  bowing  breatMessly  at  the  end.~\ 

JONSON.  Why,  Will,  't  is  fairy-like  —  she  does 
not  even  touch  the  ground. 


172  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

CICELY.  [Who  has  run  to  NICK  at  once,  disre 
garding  the  applause  of  the  others.]  Was  it  all 
right,  Nick? 

NICK.  [Taking  her  hands. ~\  'T  was  better 
than  thou  didst  ever  dance  before. 

CICELY.  [With  a  quick  light  in  her  eyes.] 
For  why  ?  for  why  ?  —  because  this  time  I  danced 
for  thee! 

[Enter  SIMON  ATTWOOD,  up  the  path.  HEY- 
WOOD  appears  a  moment  later  behind  him,,  but 
standing  unobtrusively  in  the  background  with 
the  other  players. —  CICELY  clings  to  NICK'S 
arm.  SHAKESPEARE  crosses  over  towards 
SIMON,  who  slowly  comes  into  the  center. 
NICK  stands  half-startled,  half-eager,  watch 
ing  his  father.] 

ATTWOOD.  [Hoarsely.]  Master  Shakespeare, 
I  ha'  come  about  a  matter  —  [Stops.] 

SHAKESPEARE.  In  truth,  there  is  much  the  mat 
ter. 

ATTWOOD.     I  ha'  summat  to  say  to  thee. 

SHAKESPEARE.  There  is  much  here  needs  be 
said. 

ATTWOOD.  [Looking  around  slowly.]  There  's 
naught  that  I  can  say,  but  that  I  be  sorry,  and 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  173 

I  want  my  son. —  Nick!  Nick!  [falters  brok 
enly]  I  be  wrung  for  thee;  will  ye  na  come  home 
for  thy  mother's  sake,  if  na  for  mine? 

NICK.  [Starting  up  with  a  glad  cry.]  Father! 
[Seeing  CICELY  at  his  side,  he  stops.]  But 
Cicely? 

ATTWOOD.  [  Wringing  his  hat  within  his  hands 
—  then  stoutly.]  Bring  her  along.  I  ha'  little 
enow ;  but  we  '11  make  out,  lad,  we  '11  make  out. 
[Holding  out  his  hands.] 

NICK.  [Rushing  over  to  him,  blindly.] 
Father ! 

[SIMON  ATTWOOD  holds  him  closely  and  caress 
ingly.  SHAKESPEARE,  with  his  arm  about 
CICELY,  turns  and  makes  a  sign  to  JONSON. 
The  latter  nods,  and  goes  into  the  house,  re 
appearing  instantly  with  two  bags  of  bright 
yellow  buckskin,  which  he  holds  behind  his 
back.] 

ATTWOOD.  [As  NICK  looks  up  into  his  face.] 
Well,  lad,  what  be  it? 

NICK.  [Smiling.]  Mother  will  be  glad  to  have 
Cicely,  won't  she? 

SHAKESPEARE.  I  have  a  little  story  to  tell  ye 
all.  [  JONSON  smiles  knowingly  at  CICELY.] 


174  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

When  I  went  to  Gaston  Carew  for  news  of  the  miss 
ing  boy,  he  made  known  to  me  a  secret  panel  in 
the  wainscot  of  his  house,  wherein  was  hidden  all 
he  had  on*  earth  to  leave  to  those  he  loved  the  best, 
and  who,  he  hoped,  loved  him. 

CICELY.  [Softly,  and  confidently.]  Every 
body  loves  my  father. 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Putting  his  hand  for  a  moment 
gently  on  her  head.]  He  sent  his  love  forever  to 
his  only  daughter  Cicely  [CICELY  nods  and  smiles], 
and  he  trusted  me  to  see  this  little  fortune  safe  be 
stowed.  [Slowly.]  This  done,  we  parted. — 
[Pauses.]  —  Within  the  wall,  as  he  had  said,  we 
found  these  bags  [takes  them  from  JONSON],  one 
marked  "  For  my  beloved  daughter  Cicely,"  and 
the  other,  "For  Nicholas  Attwood!"  [Turns  to 
ATTWOOD,  smiling  genially,  and  places  the  bags  in 
SIMON'S  hands.]  Four  hundred  fifty  gold  rose- 
nobles.  Neighbor  Attwood,  we  shall  have  no 
paupers  here !  [Clappmg  of  hands.]  And  what 
is  more,  I  need  a  tenant  for  this  Place  while  I  'm 
away  in  London.  What  say  you,  Simon  Att 
wood?  Wilt  be  my  man? 

CICELY.  [Going  to  NICK,  quickly'.]  Now  I 
can  stay  with  thee  till  Daddy  comes,  and  be  thine 
own  sister  forever. 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  175 

ATTWOOD.  [Brokenly .]  Why,  sir —  why,  sirs, 
all  o'  ye  —  I  ha'  been  a  hard  man,  and  sum- 
mat  of  a  foo'l.  I  ha'  misthought  and  miscalled  ye 
play-actors  many  and  many  a  time;  but,  God 
knoweth,  I  be  sorry  for  it  from  the  bottom  o'  my 
heart. 

SHAKESPEARE.  [Puttmg  his  hand  on  the  tan 
ner's  shoulder.]  Nay,  Simon  Attwood,  thou  hast 
only  been  mistaken,  that  is  all.  And  to  see  thyself 
mistaken  is  but  to  be  the  wiser.  Why,  never  the 
wisest  man  but  saw  himself  a  fool  a  thousand 
times. 

JONSON.  Come,  Neighbor  tanner,  sit  thee  up 
and  eat  with  us. 

ATTWOOD.  I  thank  ye,  sirs.  Ye  ha'  all  been 
good  to  my  boy.  But,  masters,  I  '11  go  home  to 
my  wife.  There  be  things  to  say  before  my  boy 
comes  home ;  and  I  ha'  muckle  need  to  tell  her  that 
I  love  her. —  I  ha'  na  done  so  these  many  years. 

JONSON.  Why,  Will,  't  is  altogether  like  a 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

SHAKESPEARE.  Aye,  Ben ;  and  't  is  a  good  place 
to  end,  where  all  end's  well. —  Come,  Neighbor, 
do  not  go  at  least  until  thou  drinkest  one  good 
toast  with  us,  for  we  are  all  good  friends  and  true 


176  MASTER  SKYLARK  ACT  V 

from  this  day  forth.  —     Come,  Ben,  a  toast  to  fit 
the  cue. 

JONSON.  Why,  then  —  here  's  to  all  kind 
hearts  ! 

SKAKESPEAEE.  Wherever  they  may  be  !  — 
JT  is  a  good  toast,  and  we  will  drink  it  all  together. 

JONSON.  [Going  over  to  NICK,  as  SHAKE 
SPEARE  pours  out  the  glasses.]  Nick,  my  lad, 
sing  some  words  for  me?  [Whispers  some  words 
to 


OTHERS.      [Calling.]     Master  Skylark!  —  Yes, 
the  Skylark.  —     Sing  for  us  now. 

SHAKESPEARE.     Aye,  Nicholas  ! 

CICELY.     Nick,  dear! 

NICK.     [Singing.    Tune:  "Heart's  Ease."] 

Then  here  's  a  health  to  all  kind  hearts 

Wherever  they  may  be; 
For  kindly  hearts  make  but  one  kin 

Of  all  humanity. 

And  here's  a  rouse  to  all  kind  hearts 

Wherever  they  be  found; 
For  't  is  the  throb  of  kindred  hearts 

Doth  make  the  world  go  round. 


ACT  V  MASTER  SKYLARK  177 

[As  all  raise  their  glasses,  NICK  having  stepped 
behind  the  others  —  enter  MARGARET  ATT- 
WOOD,  hurriedly,  by  the  path.] 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  Your  pardon,  kind  sirs, 
but  Anne  Shakespeare  hath  said  —  Why,  Simon, 
what  hath  come  over  thee?  What 's  happened? 

ATTWOOD.  Naught,  lass,  but  that  our  lad  is 
coming  home,  and  that  I  love  thee.  Is  it  too  late 
to  tell  thee  so? 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  [Simply,  with  a  little 
smile.]  Nay,  Simon,  't  is  never  too  late  to  mend. 
But  [turns]  — oh,  Nick! 

NICK.  [Running  to  her  arms.]  Mother!  Oh, 
Mother  dear! 

CICELY.  [Going  affectionately  to  ATTWOOD, 
who  holds  out  his  arms  pleadingly  to  her.]  Oh, 
she  will  be  my  mother,  too !  And  thou  my  foster 
Daddy ! 

MARGARET  ATTWOOD.  My  boy,  my  boy !  —  my 
little  boy ! 

[CURTAIN] 

[End  of  ACT  V] 


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